Cult of Murder
by Robert4
Summary: Chapter 14 now loaded. Cool huh?
1. Default Chapter

Disclaimer: I... uhh... I don't wan't to be, y'know, sued. Not that it would mean anything, nobody can really sue me for much. I don't have much money. So I guess it really doesn't matter, except that going to court would give me an excuse to take off work. But anyway, I don't really, y'know, own much. So, like, this is, uhh... fictional, or something.  
  
Well Met! I, as you are aware, am known as Disclexik. And I'm drinking tea! This is my first attempt at writting a fanfic. I know my spelling may not be perfect, and my gammer could use some work but... nobody's perfect. Anyway, my first story is on a game that I might have spent too much time playing. You all know it as Baldaurs Gate, but I prefer to think of it as home, and a place I'd much rather be then here, on earth. As you can see, my grip on reality is weak. First I'll give you a little info about the protagonist, and I'd like to stress that I am making nothing up about my Character here, and also that a did not cheat in any way to get him to this level.... I just played the game a few hundred or so times. Also... I tend to not be very inventive with names... My Character's name is Kincaid.  
  
Name: Jered Kincaid  
  
Race: Human/Bhaalspawn  
  
Class: Kensai level 9/Mage level 30  
  
Alignment : Neutral/Good  
  
Hit points: 486  
  
Natural AC:0  
  
Strength: 21  
  
Dexterity: 18  
  
Constitution:16  
  
Intelligence:18  
  
Wisdom:19  
  
Charisma:19  
  
Skills:  
  
Longsword***  
  
Dagger*  
  
Quaterstaff*****  
  
Single weapon style**  
  
Two-handed weapon style**  
  
Resistances:  
  
Magic: 30%  
  
Fire:60%  
  
Cold:60%  
  
Lightning:60%  
  
Immune to all weapons +1 and lower.  
  
Bio:  
  
Following the unexpected death of his Gorion, his foster father, as Kincaid learned what he was, and what that implied, his mind opened. All at once sick with guilt, blaming himself for not being able to save the man who had raised him as his own son, and awestruck at the revelation of his heritage, Kincaid suddenly became intensely aware of the fact that there was far too much left unknown to him, and entire world of strange energies and magical powers that he had paid no attention to untill now. A world that could be used against him, and he would be powerless. Vowing to himself that there would not be another Victim of his ignorence, another Gorion, Kincaid immersed himself into the study of magical energies. Before long, Kincaid found that his Knowlage of combat from his days as a Kensai could be used to perfectly compliment his new role, and a quaterstaff in his hands is a lethal weapon indeed.  
  
For as you see, Kincaid spent much of his youth studying tomes on hand-to- hand combat, believing that in such a dangerouse world, self-defense and the ability to properly wield weapons take priority. Though Gorion made an effort to teach him other skills as well, including magic, Kincaid was very focused and would often be found in the courtyards of Candlekeep, sparring with traveling warriors who would stay for the night on thier way. Caravan guards, mostly, but there was always the occaisional weaponsmaster. Though Kincaid could wield a longsword better then most men by the time he was 16, he shunned the cumbersome armor and bracers that would complete the classic "Fighter's Image". Rather, Kincaid turned his studies towareds the mysterious and graceful fighters called Kensai, or Sword Saints.  
  
  
  
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(On with the story)  
  
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Chapter One  
  
The end of the beginning  
  
Another fireball blast shook the dias that held the Throne of Bhaal. It's roaring explosion was matched only by the painful scream of the Glabrezu that felt it's full force. The Abyssal creature fell back in astonishment, now remeasuring it's half-elven opponent and the glowing club she held. Jaheira left no room for quarter, however and pressed on with full force, striking repeatedly until another fireball blast shook the dias. At one point, the Glabrezu managed to sweep the Druid's legs from under her with one of it's giant lobster-like claws, but as it reared itself for a killing blow an arrow that looked as though it was charged with lightning slammed into it's chest, followed by another, then a third.  
  
And thus the great beast was silent.  
  
"The bow of Geasen? Why is your sister still using that, hmm?" Said a voice that was nearly as dark and silky as the beautiful elf who it belonged to. "Whatever happened to that Bow we had Cespenar make for her?"  
  
Beside her Kincaid raised a flagon of some steamy liquid to his lips, pausing just before he drank."It's not all that unusual, Viconia. People have been known to grow attachments to some things over time. You know... weapons... armor... figurines... Dark-elven companions... the like. It's hard to give them up even if something supposedly "better" comes along."  
  
The dark elf snorted, but then smiled, despite herself. Turning to her companion, her eyes widened as Kincaid downed the entire contents of the flagon he held. "Just how could you be drinking at a time like this?"  
  
Kincaid only smiled and turned to regard two charging Shadow Slayers, thier wicked claws streatched out to rend the pair to ribbons. Viconia cursed and reached for the Flail of Ages hooked on her belt, but her human companion only smiled again and bent forward at the waist, as if to bow to the two dark creatures. Kincaid's hands made two quick and simple gestures before a firey blast that would give credit to an ancient red dragon burst from his lips, blasting the two Shadow Slayers clean off the dias.  
  
Beside him, Viconia gaped."I.... I've never seen that one before. Another version of Dragon's Breath?"  
  
"No," Kincaid murmured as he shook his head. "Something I picked up from Volo during our stay in Saradush. Though I think he called it Dragon's Belch."  
  
Meanwhile, near the front the the Throne Amillisan the Dark-hearted was hard-pressed to hold her own against Minsc and Valygar, both wielding a blade in each hand and working with perfectly coordiniated and timed attacks. Time and time again the would-be Goddess fell back under the visciouse onslaught the two rangers presented, paying for each mistake with another deep wound. Occasionally one or both would suddenly go into a whirlwind-like attack, often scoring many more cuts and slices along her hide.  
  
"Damn! Damn you. You shall suffer! You all shall Suffer."Amillisan spat as she worked furiously to evade the rangers' attacks, screaming as Blackrazor pierced her thigh and absorbed her blood, draining her strength as it "drank" while healing it's wielder, Minsc.  
  
"No, evil bird-woman! No longer shall any cute and furry animal suffer from your wicked doings. Forever shall your butt be exposed to the rightous kickings of hamsters and rangers everywhere. Yes! Boots shall be sold in great numbers after this day!"  
  
*******  
  
Another fireball shook the dias that held the Throne of Bhaal. Jaheira and Imoen rushed to the two Rangers' sides. Behind them lay the charred remains of yet another abyssal fiend, this one a Balor. Amillisan gritted her teeth in frustration, hurredly parrying and evading attacks where she could as she formed the incantations of a short, but powerful spell. Four fireballs simultaneously shot forth from her outsreatched hands, each one striking a target. Though Imoen, Minsc, Jaheira, and Valyagar were all wearing items that protected them from such and attack, and at least three wearing magic trinkets with regenerative properties, the attack had succeeded in winding and they all struggled for air, unable to rise.  
  
Not too far away, Kincaid sighed at the effects of Amillisan's Meteor Strike (not to be confused with Meteor Swarm, Meteor Shower, or Meteor- ite.). "They'll feel that in the morning."  
  
Viconia nodded in agreement and began gesturing the motions of a spell. Amillisan glared at the pair, her eyes glowing with hatred, casting a spell of her own. Kincaid gritted his teeth and held up his Staff of the Ram and began to advance quickly towards the fell diety, hoping he could strike her before her spell fired. His feet moved as a blur, hastened by the enchanted boots he wore he soon had the melodious voice of Viconia's chanting far behind him. Kincaid raised his staff as he closed the space between himself and Amillisan, but could not strike before her spell fired.  
  
Time did not pause, or slow, but many things happened at once to Kincaid's perception. Dimly aware of the Time Stop spell the Goddess had casted a fraction of a second before his powerful staff would have connected, he was even less aware of the giant fist that had suddenly enclosed around him, rendering him immoble and squeezing the life from out of him. Kincaid's lungs burned and he struggled to inhale air that would not come. Looking up he could only see the culmination of Amillisan's second spell, a Comet, heading straight for him. He could only guess what the third would be.  
  
********  
  
Valygar could remember very few times indeed when he had experienced as much pain as he was now. The Meteor Strike had taken him by surprise (Aye! Blasted the wind right out of him, and nearly his lungs as well!!), but as soon as he found the strength to rise he collapsed again. Disbelief came over him as he stared at his hands, watching them seem to melt before him. In the back of his mind, though the agony that wracked his body he recalled at time when he had asked Imoen to teach him a little about magic, if only to understand it somewhat and know what to expect from a wizard.  
  
"And this spell here," She had said, pointing to a diagram she had drawn for him, "Is called the Wilting spell."  
  
"The what?" Valygar had replied.  
  
"Well, it's actually Abi-Dalzim's Horrid Wilting, But that's a long name for such a simple spell. It evaporates moisture from off of and out of it's targets."  
  
"Sounds terrible." Valygar murmured, though what could you expect from such foul magic?  
  
"Well, not really, save for the smell of course. It's one of those few wide-range attack spells that can be directed towards specific targets. So Kincaid and I could cast this without hurting you, see?"  
  
Valygar took that as little reassurance. "But what if I DO get hit with it? Is there any defense?  
  
Imoen shrugged, smiled, and held up her cup of water as if to toast him. "Keep yourself hydrated. A healing potion is made of liquid, so down one and you'll be killing two birds with one stone, hm?"  
  
Valygar could no longer see his hands, or anything else for that matter. More then forty percent of his body's water had vaporized into a nauseous cloud along with those of his nearby friends.  
  
Hydrated.  
  
Keep hydrated... The Potion!  
  
Valygar's muscles felt like dried leather as he reached for one of the potions of Superior Healing that he always kept tied to his belt. Cramps sprung up everywhere from his shoulder to his wrist within moments. Every inch of motion brought more and more pain. Just a little closer. Valygar couldn't tell how close his hand was to his belt, having lost all feeling, he had to guess. Gasping for air that did not satisfy his lungs, reeking with the stench of his own bodily fluids turned to gas.  
  
There! Pain! Valygar could not scream from the pain. He could not draw the breath to do so. Pain! Feeling! The healing potion splashed over Valygar's ruined hand, restoring his sense of touch and the pain that went with it. Gunting with effort, the ranger grabbed the bottle and pulled it to his dried mouth.  
  
********  
  
Imoen woke up choking on something. Something... liquid. Opening her eyes she saw Valygar kneeling over her, a potion of superior healing in his hand and a relieved expression on his face.  
  
"You're still alive! Thank Mystra!"  
  
Imoen propped herself up on one elbow, took the offered potion an heartily drank from it. Blinking up at him when she was finished and found the strength to smile. "Mystra is the Goddess of Magic, you realize, sir ranger?"  
  
The dark-skinned man nodded and smiled somewhat ruefully."Indeed, Thank Mystra that her foul magic spared you. Not all magic is evil, I know, but I do not count that one among the good ones."  
  
The mage smirked. "It saved your life before."  
  
"What?"  
  
"Oh, nothing."  
  
Imoen grabbed the ranger's shoulder in an attempt to steady herself as she stood, slowly becoming aware of her surroundings. Not too far away Jahiera was casting healing spells on the dried, unconsciousc Minsc. Amillisan was engaged in a furiouse battle with a Fallen Deva (Apparently Viconia's work), and Viconia herself was kneeling over a badly charred body that was not moving. Kincaid.  
  
********  
  
Viconia's hands trembled as she went about the lengthy casting of her most potent healing spell. If Kincaid fell, all was lost, she knew. For her, however, in more ways then one. Moisture gathered at her eyes, blurring her vision as she touched him, her hands afire with magical energy. Then the Dark elf's face twisted in concentation as she focused her mind and poured the healing power into the immobile body laying before her.  
  
Kincaid didn't move.  
  
Panic threated to grip her heart as Viconia searched him. Checking for vital signs... checking for wounds... anything. Then, suddenly, he captured one of her roaming hands with.  
  
"Mmm, that tickles." The wizard mumbled, a small smile curving his lips.  
  
The elven cleric breathed a sigh of relief and sat back on her ankles. Her dark eyes regarded him oddly.  
  
"Oh, I'll be alright, you know that well enough." He whispered, as if to answer her unasked question.  
  
"Yes, of course." She said simply, then lowered her gaze. She had indeed noticed ever since thier earliest days together that Kincaid could take a great deal of punishment. Blades had difficulty piercing his skin, and even then oft made shallow cuts. Hammers and other blunt attacks rarely broke a bone, no matter how hard the blow may have been delt. Still, she would become very unsettled everytime she saw him wounded, even knowing that he would pull through fine. Perhaps each time she feared it would be his last. Jered Kincaid... perhaps literaly the only surfacer who had ever seen her for what she truely was, who had seen straight through the color of her skin and the reputation of her heritage. Through her own barriers meant to push him away and keep herself safe from being hurt.  
  
She looked down to see the wizard holding her hand against the side of his face. "Do you remember that day in the forests north of Umar Hills? When you asked me about living a peaceful life away from all this struggling and fighting?"  
  
The drow looked wistful as she nodded  
  
"The... the Planer sphere... It can't stay in the slums of Athkatla forever, you know. I've been thinking about moving it." He paused, looking meaningfully into her eyes, obliviouse to everything else, including the titanic battle raging but yards away. "Someplace quiet and peaceful, will you come with me?"  
  
She chluckled darkly, then dragged him up close for a kiss. "You already know my answer, abil."  
  
Kincaid pulled himself to a kneeling position. Regarding the tattered wisps and ashes that had been his clothes, he sighed. Fortunately his enchanted gear was still intact. A terrible, tormented scream grabbed the pair's attention. Both turned to see Viconia's Fallen Deva fade into a mist of sparkling light. Amillisan, bleed profusely from countless quickly- healing wounds stood where the Deva had just been, hatred burning brightly in her eyes.  
  
Kincaid and Viconia both stood with gim determination. The wizard's hands already moving through the gestures of a spell as Amillisan began her own spell-casting. Then a giant, disembodied hand apeared over the would- be Goddess, flattened and came down hard, crushing the woman underneath. Twice it came back up only to slam back down, causing the entire dias to shake, before disapearing.  
  
Kincaid glanced sideways in mid-spell to see Imoen leaning heavily on a somewhat dried Valygar. A satisfied smile crossed her lips before the effort of casting the spell rendered her unconscious.  
  
A weak groan escaped Amillisan's lips, along with much blood. Her spell- casting disrupted, she could only look up and watch her doom pour out on to her from the mouth of a disembodied Dragon's head. Kincaid's spell had fired.  
  
********  
  
"Enough! The gods have decreed. This contest is over."  
  
"NOOOOO! I am a GOD! It is not over until I say it is!"  
  
"You are no god, Amillisan..."  
  
The rest of the Solar's words faded as Kincaid sank down onto the floor. He was dimly aware of Viconia, moving down beside him and he reached over to hold her hand.  
  
"So it's over for you, then. Isn't it?" The elf whispered.  
  
Kincaid gave her hand a reasurring squeeze. "No. Only 'this' is over...."  
  
----------------------------------------  
  
(Downs 14th cup of Earl Grey)  
  
Okay now! I hope you enjoyed my first chapter to a story I have no title for.... yet. I've now been awake for quite some time now... taking many breaks, you see, and thinking up how to perfectly type my next sentance. So as you can imagine I'm a little wired (Oh, crap! have to go to work in 3 hours.... doesn't matter. I work with Darryl today. He won't mind if I take a nap on the clock), and I am now typing at 70 or so words per minute with 234 mistakes! Caffine!  
  
So, anyway, please be polite with your reviews. And please do review. I know I must have misspelled a lot of things, like Amillisan. I don't know. I'd pop the game in and find out but the game CD is on the other side of my room. That's almost 4 feet away. I'm literally to lazy to get it. 


	2. Calm After the Storm

Disclaimer: I claim 'Dis' in the name of tea-drinkers forever. Dis is claimed!  
  
Forward: Well I just got another cup ready, and I have an hour to kill before I head back out to my former place of employment to harass the people I used to work with. Hey, I've got stuff to do. And no, I haven't lost my job since chapter number 1, this is another place. Well, anyway, drink caffeine and enjoy! (Try some Oolong tea, if you have the chance. add two teaspoons of surger, but not after eating beef, or steak for that matter. Cinnamon tea is best for that)  
  
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Chapter 2  
  
Calm after the Storm  
  
The sun's glare was always slightly to harsh. It's piercing rays brought life to plants and animals everywhere, but to some eyes, only pain. There was barely a breeze within the high walls of Athkatla. If there were, though, it would only have brought fresh new scents of dying animals, rotten fruit, and other fetid stenches to the drow's sensitive nose. Everywhere people milled about as mindless golems, pushing against each other going from one place to the next as the merciless sun beat down upon them. Heating them under the heavy, but dull clothes of the commoners.  
  
Viconia was glad she was leaving.  
  
The elven cleric leaned heavily against the Planer Sphere that was smack in the middle of the Slums district. A bemused smile threatened to take hold as she thought of how much these rivvil.... humans, seemed to represent ants. Especially the deep ants of the underdark. A matter of days after the huge oddity made it's appearance, the people of the city no longer began to notice it, taking it's presence for granted and going about their meaningless, simple, and very very short lives. Crawling upon the ground and upon each other, eating whatever scraps they could scavenge from the streets, even living on top of each other. Yes... ants.  
  
And after the Sphere that had caused no significant disruption to their lives was gone, they would likely take but passing notice. The drow sighed. How long had she lived among them? How long until she began to act like them too? True, adapting to their movements and mannerisms was a surefire way to avoid undue attention, but to conform to them, these creatures that were less then her...  
  
No, not all.  
  
***************  
  
"Well, then. Let me be the first to say I'm going to miss you. Every one of you. I owe you all my life, many times over I'm sure." Kincaid circled the table his companions sat at with a half-empty mug in his hand. The Copper Coronet was virtually empty, allowing the friends to enjoy this moment in peace. They had spent many hours here, telling stories and laughing over several readily available mugs of ale and the occasional decanter of Elverquisst. Only Minsc and Viconia were absent. Minsc was apparently looking for some hamster-sized boots.  
  
Imoen smiled cheerily up at him, raising her decanter as if to salute him. "That much is mutual, Kin. C'mon, you need to smile more! You still have the rest of your life ahead of you."  
  
"And a long life that will be, considering how well you've learned." Jaheira continued, likewise raising her own decanter.  
  
The human smiled from the other side of the table. Then, bowing slightly, he raised his eyebrows at the druid. "How well I've learned from your so-perfectly wise counsel, or how well I've learned of magic and what mages usually do with it to extend their time here?"  
  
"Don't worry," Jaheira chuckled. "I have faith in your wisdom where magic is concerned."  
  
Kincaid furrowed his brow as he examined his mug, which had become somehow lighter. "'Where magic is concerned'... how would you take that?"  
  
The mug wisely chose not to answer.  
  
Valygar smirked and swatted the wizard's nearby thigh. "As it was meant. A compliment. You're what... pushing twenty, correct? Don't expect everything that comes with age to be in you already."  
  
"Funny you should mention that." Kincaid replied, arching his back. "Because I've got this terrible case of arthritis." He rubbed his hands together for emphasis, letting his mug patiently wait in the air next to him.  
  
Now both ranger and druid smirked, taking another long pull at their drinks.  
  
"No, I'm serious! Watch what happens when I try to cast a spell." Kincaid went about the motions of spell-casting, making exaggerated wincing expressions. Finally he let out a small cry of pain and snapped his fingers. A flash of light engulfed both Valygar and Jaheira for but a brief instant, then it was gone.  
  
They were now both wearing each other's clothes.  
  
Jaheira's astonished cry was drowned out by the wizards' pleasent laughter. Even Valygar, after shifting uncomfortably several times, joined in as a result of his third tall mug of ale. The half-elf glared dangerously up at Kincaid, holding the ranger's oversized clothes up as they threatened to fall right off.  
  
"I would have thought your days of playing pranks were long over."  
  
Kincaid winked. "'Twould be a sad day indeed if that happened."  
  
She smiled despite herself, then gave in to the laughter bubbling up inside her at the rediculous situation she was now in. "Tcheh... I don't suppose you can now change us back?"  
  
Kincaid turned to his mug that was still floating in the air. "Heh. You'd think after so many years a person would know how to change their own clothes...."  
  
"Enough."  
  
Kincaid tapped a finger to his left temple. "Ah-ah.... All gone. I only memorized that spell once. However, have no fear. For my next trick...." The wizard then reached down and snatched up the Corthala family emblem that Valygar always wore around his neck. "...I shall need some lackluster bauble as a component."  
  
The alarmed ranger reached up to reclaim his stolen gem, but Kincaid had already danced out of range, stopping to give a reassuring wink. Reluctantly, Valygar settled down, crossing his arms around his somewhat feminine clothes as he witnessed the fate of one of his most prized positions unfold.  
  
When Kincaid's spell was complete, he raised the emblem high over his head and blew a breath of hot air in it's direction. When his hands came back down they held a small rodent, a hamster in his hands.  
  
Everyone, except for Valygar laughed at the sight. Kincaid made a deep bow, letting the Hamster, Boo, crawl onto the table as he did so, turned and made for the door. Imoen leapt out of her seat and stumbled after him, catching up to him just as he exited.  
  
"Kin, wait!"  
  
The wizard turned in time for Imoen to slam solidly into his chest. "Whoa, girl! Have a care." He cried, holding her out at arms length as he gave her a quick look-over. "A bit tipsy, huh? I should tell Hendak to water down yours from now on."  
  
He stopped smiling when she raised her face to his and saw the tears in her eyes. "Imoen..."  
  
"I.... I'll miss you Kin. I've always been beside you and now I...." She lowered her gaze, her voice caught in her throat and she reached out for him. This time, Kincaid did not hold her away. "You've your own life now. I can't believe we.... we're really saying goodbye."  
  
"It's not forever, sis, you know that well." He murmured soothingly, stroking Imoen's pinkish-red hair. "We are archwizards, you and I. Space and distance should mean nothing to us." But even as the words left his lips he knew that was not fully the reason Imoen was so upset.  
  
She lifted her head from Kincaid's chest, her eyes glistened with tears as she looked into his. "You've your own life now."  
  
He nodded solemnly, hearing the words he did not want to hear. Between him and his 'sibling' things had changed, and may yet change more still.  
  
Imoen lifted a hand to brush away some of his dark blue hair. A striking color which had always amazed her. And odd color, like hers, but not unpleasant. Blue... like Haer'Dalis's, but far darker. "Do you ever wonder... Do you.... Do you ever think about what might have happened if... if.... uhm..."  
  
Kincaid sighed. "If we had never been taken captive be Irenicus? If I had never had to face Serovok, or Amelysan?  
  
Imoen blinked. "How did you know to say her name right this time."  
  
Kincaid looked puzzled, then looked skyward. "I haven't the Foggiest...."  
  
"Anyway.... yeah... I guess that too.  
  
"Kincaid smiled understandingly, saying simply." I.... often do indeed."  
  
Imoen wiped the tears from her eyes, taking a step away from the man she may never see again. "It was really fun.... wasn't it? Despite all the pain."  
  
"Yeah..."  
  
"Oh! Aren't you going to say goodbye to Minsc?"  
  
Kincaid laughed. "I already have. He wished me well, saying that I should travel far and kick hard, so that the rears of anything evil should quiver in fear of my well-oiled boots."  
  
Imoen laughed, then could not help but ask. "Anything evil, hm? Would that include Viconia's rear?"  
  
The wizard raised his hands, "No, lass. Her rear only quivers in fear of these."  
  
They briefly shared a moment of laughter, then Kincaid looked wistfully to the north, in the twilight he could easily see the Planer Sphere. Twilight.... it had been a while indeed. He turned back to his life-long companion and friend, embracing her in a hug that kept her from drawing in air for several moments. Caring not for her oxygen supply, Imoen did likewise, fresh tears crawling down her cheeks.  
  
"Well... "  
  
"Well...." Was the quiet reply.  
  
Kincaid smiled broadly and winked at her before turning to leave. "Why don't you go help Valygar into some more suitable clothes? That is what you want to do, right?"  
  
"What!?" Imoen gasped. Valygar!? Yet despite her confusing feelings for Kincaid (By Bhaal! He was her own brother! Though.... not related by blood... only by divinity) she could not deny the budding attraction she felt for the strong-willed, goodly ranger. "..... How... how did you know?"  
  
Kincaid cast an amused look over his shoulder and smiled back at her. "I didn't. I guessed."  
  
Imoen too shocked to realize she had blushed a shade that rivaled the color of her hair. Shaking it off with a grin, bemused with the notion of her and the good ranger together (The thought did seem to hold some merit), she walked back into the Copper Coronet.  
  
Imoen had no sooner closed the door when she was nearly bowled over, the door bursting back open, by an incredibly upset Minsc, holding in his large, clenched fist what looking like a gem-set emblem.  
  
"What's wrong Minsc?" Imoen asked from the floor, absently rubbing her bruised hindquarters."  
  
Minsc wailed as he held up the Corthala family Emblem. "It's Boo! He... He's been turned into a Rock!"  
  
***********  
  
"Could you have taken any longer, my m'rann d'sin's? Or were you hoping that your blasted sun would invent a darker shade to turn my skin into?"  
  
Kincaid smiled pleasantly at the greeting, stepping in front of the door to the Sphere and, placing a hand on it, caused it to disappear, permitting entry. "Have you been waiting long, my love?"  
  
The dark elf snorted and shouldered her way past him, answering with a question. "Where do you intend to take this thing anyway?"  
  
"You're not going to comment on the furnishings?"  
  
"They're satisfactory. Where?"  
  
The wizard smiled at his favorite spot in the ceiling. "She can be so pleasant but when her life is at stake... stake being the key word here."  
  
Viconia tapped an impatient foot. "Finished, wael?  
  
He covered the distance between himself and his grumpy lover, taking hold of her shoulders and looking meaningfully into her eyes. "Listen... I'm very sorry I kept you waiting. However, you must understand that these people mean much to me... very much indeed. Likely I shall not see them or hear from them for some time, if ever."  
  
The drow lowered her gaze momentarily. "I know. I just.... they will miss you, won't they. They care for you."  
  
"They care for you, and will miss you as well...."  
  
"You make a bad liar, abil."  
  
"Even Jaheira"  
  
Her eyes narrowed at the mention of the Half-elf. "As if I care for what that Mongrel thinks of me."  
  
"And you say I'm a bad liar.  
  
"AH!" Viconia threw up her hands and stalked off, mostly to stifle the laughter that was bubbling in her. ".... Where?!?"  
  
"The western mountain range of Icewind Dale. I've read about it in Candlekeep. It's far enough away from Tentowns so as to not draw attention... and I think I'd rather enjoy the climate...."  
  
***********  
  
Akel scrubbed furiousely at the defiant stain which mocked him from it's place on the floor. Getting by on a Smith apprentice's wage was difficult enough without one's master having a fit every time the forge was less then sparkling. By Torm! It was a Smithing Forge! Not a nobleman's ballroom. Sometimes Akel could just swear he was out to rid the poor boy of his sani...  
  
Akel looked up suddenly as his ears picked up a noise that should not be there.  
  
"..... murder......" Something whispered. The apprentice looked around nervously, suddenly very scared.  
  
"......murder........ death....." the whispers came again... this time from a different spot. Try as he might, though, Akel could not see anyone.  
  
"Who's there? Show yourself!" He said nervousely. Trying to put some sense of command into his voice unconvincingly.  
  
".... MURDER!" The words stabbed at Akel's ears just as a blade stabbed at his heart, sinking in so deep it came out the other side. As he apprentice sank to the ground, his lifeblood pouring from him, covering the stain that had kept him up so long, his last images where of the cloaked man in front of him that had now become visible. He bore the symbol of Bhaal, Lord of Murder.  
  
--------------------------  
  
I hope you enjoyed my second chapter here. It's really a work in progress or something. I know it will take some time before it starts to make sense but don't worry, the story is firmly entrenched in my dyslexic head. Did anyone see undeclared last night? I wonder if That 70's show was a re-run or something.... didn't know Eric and Donna got back together.... But hey! Gotta say that buying this new pack of underwear was a good choice! The socks are comfy too!  
  
Okay.... tea's gotten cold. I probably should get back to collecting all those dog tags anyway.... Raiden looks so weird with that brown wig on, wonder what the blue one will look like. Alternately.... could play more blitzball....  
  
something happened to me last Thursday on my way home. I looked up in the sky and saw a strange yellow object to the east. It was moving very irregularly. Suddenly, I was surrounded by intense light. When I came too, I was home....  
  
Did you know that urine is sterile?..... you can drink it.... 


	3. The start of a new life

Disclaimer: I. Did. Not. Have. Sexual. Relations. With that woman Monica Louinski...  
  
Hello there avid reader. I was just Mixing together some orange pekoe and earl grey to see what it would taste like. Of course, orange pekoe is really the standard for tea, so it seams you can mix it with anything. Anyway, just got off work, which is good, because every time I go in I feel like it's five minutes till I can leave.... and the time goes by so painfully slow. So, as I was slaving away like any disposable white boy, I continued to refine the story that at least two of you actually enjoy reading. The other twenty do it as a hobby. Oh... and I think somewhere along the line I may have to change the rating of this story to R or NC- 17.... don't know. public opinion will tell, methinks.  
  
  
  
-------------------  
  
Chapter 3  
  
The start of a new life  
  
An hour or three had passed since the sun had died on the western horizon. Life went on as usual, and the city of Athkatla fell into slumber. Few were awake at this hour. Shadow Thieves, for the most part, as well as the Amnish night watch. The occasional merchant or drunkard would walk the streets, but for the most part Athkatla was dead. Life as usual. In the slums, the stench of rotten fruit mingled with that of animal feces. The buildings appeared to be leaning upon each other, and in the night they looked like crooked teeth against the starry sky. A shadow thief happened to be scaling the rooftop of one such building when he stopped to spare a glance at the gigantic orb that resided not too far off. A magical thing, and thus, none of his concern. The Planer Sphere was everything that a Shadow Thief should be afraid of, the epitome of a wizard's stronghold. He fervently wished the damnable thing had never arrived.  
  
**********  
  
Kincaid strolled across the steel catwalks that encircled the Sphere's dead Core. Pausing here and there, he stooped to examine it's fleshy parts. He straighten and scratched his chin at one point as he came across a blacked orifice wish ashes still clung to it.  
  
"Lavok, you insane gibberling... how did you do it? How did you not kill yourself in the process?" He wondered aloud, bending to examine a part where the organic and metallic materials merged. He shook his head and exited the room, walking through the adjacent Fire Room that he had redesigned to be a forge. He was glad he had shed his clothes in the room beyond, as the intense head bombarded his skin. Not too uncomfortable, though.  
  
"Finished?" Asked a feminine voice not too far away as he left the Fire room.  
  
"Hmm? Oh... yes. I know how to fix it." He responded quietly, not breaking his stride or looking for the speaker.  
  
"And?"  
  
"Let's just say that a little wish can go a long way." Kincaid smiled. A long way indeed. Far from Athkatla.  
  
"Indeed? Well, it can wait at least." The voice whispered teasingly into his ear. It's owner wrapped her dark arms around his waist, preventing him from going any further. Those blue-black hands crawled up his chest in small, vague circles. Kincaid straightened as he felt her press her body against his, realizing that she wore no more then he did. Namely, nothing at all. Her nails lightly scrapped against his skin, making him shudder.  
  
"We... really should get this thing moving..." He started to say, but his words ended in a low growl as Viconia bit into his neck. Kincaid's head lolled back and the rest of his breath left his grinning mouth with a sigh. "That's... really not fair, look you.... hey! I didn't say stop."  
  
"I've been wanting to get you alone, my m'rann d'sinn's. No one can bother us now." The drow whispered before renewing her biting with vigor. The helpless human fell to his knees. Looking up, Kincaid reached up and took hold of his lover by the hair on the back of her head, pulling her down for a kiss. Their lips met with fiery passion. Her tongue invaded his mouth and he welcomed it, responding with his own tongue. The two held the kiss for several minutes before finally coming up for air.  
  
"When you're right, you're right." Kincaid breathed after catching his breath. "The wish can wait."  
  
Kincaid turned and looked at her. His eyes scoured her perfectly shaped body, and he stared for several moments in awe, as he always did. He reached up and to a lock of her silken white hair in his hand. Beautiful.  
  
Viconia's eyes darkened with desire. Now they were alone. No noisily snoring companions but yards away, or sleeping in the next room. Certainly no need to keep this quiet. The thought brought a grin to the dark elf's face and she bore down on the awe-struck human with a fervent passion that promised that an end would be long in coming.  
  
***********  
  
The shadow thief jumped from one rooftop to the next. He carefully landed so as to make as little noise as possible, adjusting the sack of stolen goods over his shoulder. Pausing to rest for a moment, he cast a glance offer his shoulder. The horizon was just barely starting to lite, dawn would come within the hour.  
  
More quickly now, the thief padded silently from one rooftop to another. As much as he hated to rob from the poorer folk who lived in the slums, the rich side of town was particularly well-guarded tonight. The thief remembered well what Aran Linvail had once consoled him on, regarding thievery. 'All the gold in the world won't buy back your life if you get killed. Remember that well and be reasonable."  
  
Still, all-in-all this had been a slow night, and Garret had only a few copper and silver trinkets to show for it. A few useful items aside, it was barely worth the effort. The thief yawned and shook his head to clear his blurring eyes. Had he been more observant, he might have noticed a soft glow begin to envelop the Planer Sphere, which he had avoided. The glow spread to envelop the entire structure, raising in brightness until it reached it's peak. For but a heartbeat, the Sphere shined like a star. The next instant, the light was gone, and the Sphere with it. Where it once stood, there was only a sphere-shaped outline in the buildings it had originally phased into.  
  
Garret yawned again and shifted the sack to his other shoulder before continuing his trek towards the Docks District.  
  
  
  
***********  
  
Imoen stretched and more or less fell out of bed. She landed on a very soundly sleeping dark-skinned ranger and effectively woke him up, though just barely. He protested impressively well for one as disoriented as he was. The young mage scrambled to her feet and fought hard to stay there, light-headed as she was, as well as suffering from a hangover. Valygar simply rolled onto a more comfortable spot on the floor and didn't move.  
  
"Tcheh... alright.... gotta wake up Imoen... time to save the world from itself or some bother..." The young woman told herself as she stumbled about the tiny room, finally leaning over the small desk for support while she collected her wits. "Hmm... I'll make a note.... first wake up, then get up... not other way around..."  
  
Again Imoen stretched, then shook her head in an effort to rid herself of that annoying headache. She looked around and her eyes fell upon Valygar, who had resumed his snoring. She sighed and knelt down beside him, swatting him playfully, "Wakey wakey. That means you too, you lug!"  
  
Valygar feebly warded off her well-meaning attacks and hauled himself up to sit with his back to the wall. The rubbed his face sleepily for some time before slowly opening his eyes. Those eyes widened as he saw that he was wearing but a few articles of what looked like women's clothing. When he looked up, seeking answers, he gaped at seeing Imoen, naked as she usually slept (luxury permitting) kneeling over him.  
  
Concern flashed in the woman's eyes and she reached out to hold his head in her hands. "Are you alright Val? You seem... ill or something."  
  
He snatched her wrists and gently warded them off. "I'm... fine... Uh... I... I think." The ranger stammered.  
  
Imoen cocked her head to one side and looked him over. "Alright, if you say so. But you still have to get up." She smiled and gave the man another swat before standing and scanning the room for her clothes. Valygar caught himself staring and hastily looked away. Reddish-pink, he thought, hmm... natural color...  
  
"So... Imoen... Could you help me out here? What... what exactly happened last night?"  
  
Imoen favored him with one of her more cheerful expressions, "Hm? Oh... you passed out."  
  
If it were possible, Valygar would have paled.  
  
"What's wrong?" Imoen asked while she pulled on her leggings.  
  
"That... sounds worse." Valygar managed to get to his feet. He made to steps for the door before he had to stop to cover himself. "Uh... I don't suppose you have anything I could wear?"  
  
"Hm?" Imoen looked up lazily as she slipped her tunic on, taking a few moments to adjust it before heading out the door. "I think Jaheira still has your clothes, wait here, I'll go get them."  
  
Valygar choked. "Ja... Jaheira?! What happened last night?!"  
  
************  
  
Meanwhile a very surly, very hung over dwarf walked, or rather stumbled from one pile of rubbish to the next. Every now and then the hapless Korgan would stumble and fall, breaking something open with his head, which actually seemed to ease the pain from his headache momentarily, though it would only renew it's relentless assault with more power then before.  
  
The dwarf made a sound that was like a whimper and a growl put together. Normally, as per normal for a dwarf, he experienced no after-affects from over abuse of alcohol, but this wasn't one of those times. Every step sent another knife of pain into his head. He walked with his eyes closed, not wanting to bear the painful brightness the the early morning sun. His rough hands gripped his forehead, yet brought no comfort. Finally, he stumbled and fell on something that his hard head did not break. Opening his eyes he saw... stairs. Curious, the dwarf squinted up into the basted bright sunlight.  
  
A gnome, cup in hand, was standing at the top. The distinct smell of turnips filled the air.  
  
"You know, you're the spitting image of uncle Gearheart after the second annual turnip festival. A few too many fermented turnip pies with albacarro or ginseng root and he was wandering around in circles sputtering what sounded like pig-elvish. Mind you we were all very grateful that no elves were present at that time, though a surprising number of dwarves showed up. Good thing, too. After uncle Scratchy finished the rest of the..."  
  
"Will you ever shut yer dung-blasted hole?" The surly dwarf growled into the stairs.  
  
Jan Jansan raised his eyebrows in surprise and took a moment to sip his tea. "Well... I must say, uncle Scratchy made a few comments about my personal hygiene, though I don't think it has deteriorated to that level. Fortunately I have just perfected a rather potent turnip-flavored mouthwash. Though if what you say is true, then maybe it could use a little work. Perhaps if you would be so kind as to..."  
  
"Stop.... SPEAKING....." The dwarf sat on his haunches, holding his aching head while he waited for the firestorm within to settle down.  
  
"Ohh.... I see. You know, I have just the thing for you. Ma always brewed up some of this after one of uncle Gearheart's drinking binges, though hers always tasted sour after a good meal of apple and turnip soup. Maybe it would have to do with the angle-root that she adds, though I always thought that if you..."  
  
Korgan barely managed a low growl to silence the diminutive talking machine.  
  
************  
  
The Copper Coronet.  
  
Minsc busily sorted through the equipment he and his friends had compiled together. Their most prized magical possessions no longer worked, unfortunately. Defeating Amylessan (Who's name defies spelling) within the Abyss sent something of a magical backlash throughout the area. Being so charged up with magical energy, her death could cause no less. All but a few of their magical items had died at that moment. Kincaid, however, did have to foresight to store their excess equipment in a safe place.  
  
Minsc let out a cry of triumph as he fished out a large, two-handed sword from the pile.  
  
"Ah-hah! You were right, boo. This one still works, good thing. Evil shall be running with it's pants pulled down around it's ankles thanks to Minsc's new belt-cutting blade of justice."  
  
"Ohh.... great. Now I have to be paired with this moron again. Hey! Why don't you do me a favor and polish me?" The sword, Lilarcor, grumbled in return.  
  
Minsc looked taken aback. "Boo wants to know, why are you so edgy this morning?"  
  
Jaheira entered then, resplendid with a new change of clothes. Imoen followed shortly thereafter, and then Valygar, who glanced nervously around. The half-elven druid wasted no time in helping herself to a fresh salad, with some small amounts of meat, as well as a tall glass of water. Imoen took a nearby table and bade Valygar to join her, but the ranger shook his head as if to say 'In a moment'.  
  
He caught site of Hendak and made his way to him quickly. Pulling him aside, he asked. "I.... seem to have a problem remembering last night.."  
  
The Northman grinned, "Oh! Zat's becauze you blacked out like a snuffed candle. Fell like yon heavy log. You did a bit too much celebrating last night, eh?"  
  
Valygar cast a nervous glance back towards Imoen, who was ordering her breakfast. "Oh..."  
  
"Ze girl dragged you upstairz, remember. I swear, next time I won't serve ze strong drinks. Here, I'll make some Calimshite coffee for you two."  
  
Valygar nodded his thanks and took his awaiting seat. Imoen, busily sharpening the Pixie Prick dagger, smiled up at him. "Feeling better?"  
  
The Ranger favored her with a withering look, but said nothing. One barmaid, her eyes still sleepy, handed them both their drinks. Valygar graciously appraised the dark, strong liquid by tossing the whole thing back, ignoring the hot, scalding pain as he swallowed.  
  
Imoen raised and eyebrow as she quietly took a sip. "Now, feeling better?"  
  
Valygar nodded and the two began to make light conversation. Then the Ranger noticed that Jaheira had finished her food, but was staring off into space, obviously troubled with something. Nodding his head in her direction, he asked, "What's wrong with her?"  
  
Imoen politely thanked the barmaid as she handed her her plate. Spare ribs with Hendak's special mild-spicy Northman sauce, and soup on the side. She hesitated before answering, troubled as well. "Jaheira was informed by way of a Harper's Sending (Magical means of communication).... someone was killed last night. It's... not the murder so much as...." Imoen paused, picking at her food but not bothering to eat. When Valygar pressed her to continue, she sighed. "The killer made a circle of bloody tears around the body."  
  
Valygar sat back in his chair, almost blown over by the sheer exasperation he felt. When he thought it was finally over.  
  
"The Symbol of Bhaal...."  
  
--------------------------  
  
Well... I know it's not a great progression, here. But you have to understand, writer's block is a terrible illness. So please, give to the dislexic with tea foundation and hope that one day, we will find a cure for writer's block. Just call the toll-free number on the bottom of your screen and we will send you the name, photo, and personal history of someone who is affected by this horrible disease.  
  
Say! I bet I could make a lot of money if I made a bet that someone would write a fanfic for Final Fantasy X that involves Tidus coming back! Hmm.... no... either it's already been done or no one would take that bet. But Damn..... I haven't gotten emotional over a video game since Xenogears.... must be something in the tea.  
  
I'm sure glad I have that spell-fixer-thingey program, because my hands are shaking more then a girl's vib---- On to the next topic!  
  
Snake, you remember that oil tanker sinking two years ago? Oh, wait, nevermind. Up late, you see, but at least I don't have work tomorrow. Should go down to the store to pick up more tea. But then, I can't ring the bell, obviously, because the next door neighbor has too many pancakes. This makes it hard to eat ice cream while skiing with seventeen journals. I need scissors! 61! Raiden! You must c-continue your m-mission.  
  
Fun Fact: The chair you are sitting on has been farted upon by no less then twelve people. Will continue to write with chapter 4. Please read and review, then re-read. There will be a test on this, Tommy! I know you're not sick; you ARE going to school today. AH! No buts! 


	4. Signs of trouble

Disclaimer: Anemone, or Clematis plant's juice, can sometimes cause a rash. While pruning them, I suggest wearing gloves.  
  
The mage Jon Irenicus took another sip of his delicious Oolong tea and leaned back in his chair, leisurely crossing his legs: Interesting... So, what possessed you to have your character, Kincaid, paired up with the drow?  
  
Dislexic: Well I should think it would be rather obvious.  
  
Irenicus: You mean her breasts?  
  
Dislexic: They are nice, aren't they? And oh-so-soft... Oh! But no. No no no, it's because she was the dark and brooding one of the bunch. The evil one.  
  
Irenicus nods: Ohh. I see.  
  
Dislexic: Say.... I thought I wasn't suppose to have any imaginary guests interview me until later. What are you doing here?  
  
Irenicus: Drinking too much tea can do that.  
  
Dislexic: Oh. So... by the way, what did you think of the player character when you first met him?  
  
Irenicus: Well, the first few times around I stood a good chance of beating him, but now that he's up there in level 30, nothing can hurt him. I'm starting to think that becoming a god would be a step down for him.  
  
Dislexic chuckles: Tcheh, yep, I chose his class well, didn't I?  
  
Irenicus rubs a wicked scar on his neck: Uh-huh... So, now we have your character out 30 miles east south-east of the middle of nowhere... any idea where the plot will develop in that area?"  
  
Dislexic shrugs: Hmm... haven't given it too much thought. I suppose they could just have sex until I think of something.  
  
Irenicus slaps his forehead: They've Been doing that! Do you mean this story isn't finished yet in your head?  
  
Dislexic sighs and goes back to the keyboard: It's not that! I'm just adjusting it as we go along.  
  
Irenicus: Any reason why those two are always doing it?  
  
Dislexic shrugs: Well yeah, it's to compensate for my life.  
  
Irenicus: Tcheh. And Valygar passing out on the night Imoen starts going for him. What's with that?  
  
Dislexic: It just wouldn't be right if the two so-quickly progressed in their relationship like that, y'know?  
  
Irenicus: So you have Valygar, a strong ranger possessing an equally strong constitution pass out from alcohol?  
  
Dislexic: Look, are you just gonna criticize my work? I don't have to listen to this! I have other imaginary guests...  
  
Snake: The man has a point there...  
  
Irenicus: Snake.... what do you know about Balduar's Gate?  
  
Snake: Balduar's Gate? What? Is that a new type of Metal Gear?  
  
Irenicus: Great choice, you obviously have an expert on your hands.  
  
Dislexic: Oh shut up! Say... is the camera on?  
  
Irenicus: Uh-oh.... it is. It's been on this whole time.  
  
Dislexic: Oh S***. Play the story, just play the story. We'll do this later.  
  
--------------------  
  
Chapter 4  
  
Signs of trouble  
  
Greaker's Iron Chestplate  
  
Jaheira, Imoen, and two Harpers stood over the body of Akel Arackelber, the young apprentice of Greaker Ironhammer, the half-dwarf blacksmith who ran the small shop in the Gem district. Greaker was a little less then 5 feet in height with his salt-and-pepper hair trimmed short. Likely, he kept his hair that way to keep it from catching on fire while working on the forge. His face was scarred and burnt from decades of smith labor, and despite his dwarven heritage, he bore the appearence of a short, muscular human. He sat on a chair over the boy's body with his head in his hands.  
  
One of the harpers, a young thief named Isplin, turned to Jaheira and whispered, "The position of the body suggests that he was unaware of the intruder until shortly before his death. Most likely, he was invisible. The stab wound was made with a stone short blade..."  
  
"Stone?" The half-elf inquired.  
  
Isplin nodded. "A sacrificial weapon, perhaps. Stone daggers are commonly used as such. This, however, was longer then the usual dagger length." Isplin paused. "The time of death would be around sundown. Give or take an hour. We can't narrow it down further then that."  
  
Jaheira turned to Imoen but said nothing. Imoen shook her head.  
  
"There's more." Isplin continued. "The circle of bloody tears around the body... it's not Akel's blood. Morand examined it magically and he says that it's based on human blood. Whatever that means. He said that for the most part it's human, but there was other factors to it that he couldn't figure out."  
  
Again, Jaheira looked at Imoen, but the girl shook her head again. This time more forcefully.  
  
Isplin noticed the exchange and frowned. "Uh... do you know anything...?"  
  
"No." The druid snapped, waving her hand to signal the end of the conversation. She went to where Greaker was sitting and placed a hand on his shoulder. The half-dwarf shifted and moaned as if to stifle a sob, but did not look up.  
  
"Grey... " She said softly, "Look at me. Did Akel have any enemies? Listen Grey, I know this is hard, but I need you to answer me."  
  
The half-dwarf did sob now. Greaker looked up and rubbed his eyes dry from the silent tears he had been shedding. "The... durned boy... he... I always yelled at him for not working fast enough. If... if he had been done an' finished with his chores... If..." Greaker let out a howl of despair and slammed his fist into a nearby end table, causing it to buckle and splinter. Greaker took a long moment to collect himself before answering Jaheira's question. "He... Akel was an orphan. I took the boy in as me own but... he spent his time here. All of it."  
  
Jaheira nodded, "I see. Thank you, Grey."  
  
The half-elf stood and signaled Imoen to follow her, but on her way out, Isplin stopped her. "Jaheira... ma'am... If you know anything at all that could help..."  
  
His only reply was a cold, warning glare.  
  
The other Harper, an old battle-worn veteran named Yar Ban, chose this moment to make himself known as he joined Isplin in blocking Jaheira's path. The older man towered over the half-elf, with a glare to match her own. "This is my investigation. Just because you have to personal backing of some senior Harper's does not give you the right to..."  
  
"So Elminster is now called 'Some senior Harper' by the impertinent youth, is it? I wonder if he would see things as you do." Jaheira shot back.  
  
Yar growled at the word, youth, but could not refute the accusation. Not only was Jaheira older then he by several years, but he had been out of line and was wise enough so as to not argue that. For several moments, the two simply stared at each other until Yar finally turned and left with Isplin in tow. The younger man turned and cast a look of apology at the two women, who smiled their thanks.  
  
"The Amnish guard will soon be here." The young mage whispered. Jaheira nodded and regarded Greaker again. This time it was necessity that governed her words.  
  
"Grey. When the Amnish Guard come, tell them everything. Do not feel inclined to hold back because of us.  
  
The half-dwarf looked up in surprise. "You... are not working with them?"  
  
Jaheira shook her head. "We who harp do not work that way. Trust us, we will find who did this."  
  
Greaker nodded, but took little comfort in her words.  
  
**************  
  
Valygar watched the two harpers leave Greaker's Iron Chestplate. He noted the troubled expression on the older one's face and frowned. To them, it was the start of some great load of work. To Valygar, it was just another day.  
  
Imoen and Jaheira followed shortly thereafter. Imoen paused to give the ranger a smile, which he warmly returned. If Jaheira thought anything of the exchange, she said nothing.  
  
"Jaheira, I know what you must be thinking, but.." Imoen started to say.  
  
The half-elf shook her head. "The time fits, but I don't think it was Kincaid. The Harpers, however, may think differently. That worries me."  
  
Valygar frowned. "Don't think it was Kincaid.." He echoed softly, regarding the half-elf with a withering look. "Was he ever suspect?"  
  
Imoen and Jaheira shared a troubled glance. The half-elf walked away in the direction of the slums district. The ranger and thief-mage followed at a short distance. Curious, Valygar tugged on Imoen's arm and leaned over her. "Did I miss something?"  
  
"Hmm..." The young woman took some time to collect her thoughts. "We don't think he did it but... we have to be careful. You see Val... where divine events are concerned, well... it's just... different, you know?"  
  
The dark-skinned ranger shook his head. "No. I don't. How could you even consider the possibility that Kincaid would do such a thing?"  
  
Imoen sighed. "The Kincaid we know and love would never but... Listen, I lived with him longer. I know there's a dark side. He... he used to tell me about his dreams. They were so terrible, I never had any dreams like those..."  
  
The ranger's brow furrowed as he regarded his companion. "So you mean that... what? That he has multiple personalities or... Does this have anything to do with his use of magic?"  
  
Imoen laughed mirthlessly. "No, but divinity and all godly things have everything to do with magic. It's not that. It's just that... Jaheira and I were fearful that maybe..." The young woman sighed again and brushed her reddish-pink hair from her face. "Well, like I said, he has a dark side to him. Sometimes you can see it in battle, it's like blood lust, but different. Anyway, it's a side of him that very few understand."  
  
"Who does?" The curious ranger inquired.  
  
Imoen pursed her lips thoughtfully. "Jon Irenicus understood... as do Serevok and Viconia."  
  
Valygar blinked. "Viconia?"  
  
Imoen smiled sweetly. "You didn't think he was taken with her just for her looks, did you?"  
  
Stupefied, the ranger could only gape.  
  
Imoen slapped his shoulder playfully. "You never thought much of her, I know. I, too, had my differences with her but... There's more to her then meets the eye, Kincaid knew that. To him, they're the same, those two. They both have that inner darkness, that's why they understand each other."  
  
Valygar absorbed this as a sponge might absorb, say, a boulder. For a while, the two just walked in silence a few steps behind Jaheira. They became oblivious to their surroundings as the buildings progressively lost their luster and became more and more run-down by turns. The sweet, refreshing air that wafted from the Gem District was soon replaced by the rotten stench of the Slums. Try as he might, Valygar could not imagine the brave, confident, goodly Jered Kincaid he knew and trusted to be such a murderer.  
  
"Hm... I think you're right to doubt his involvement, Imoen."  
  
The young woman nodded. "I hope so."  
  
***************  
  
Athkatla Gates.  
  
"Ahh... what a great day for Minsc and Boo and Sword!" Said a large, proud barbarian-like ranger as he left the city of Athkatla. The guards standing at attention at either side cast a curious glance his way. "The city and thousands of evil fallen to the sword of justice behind, and the road to my homeland of Rashman ahead! And woe be to any foul creature that does any harm to any small and furry animal while we are passing by! You hear me evil? Say WOE!"  
  
"Woah! Slow down you long-legged empty-headed rolling paintball!" A gruff voice huffed. The voice happened to belong to Korgan Bloodaxe. The dwarf was wearing a fresh, clean change of clothes under a brand-new set of lightly enchanted full plate mail armor, replendid with a new pair of traveling boots and a cloak fit for a nobleman.  
  
Minsc peered at him curiously. "My head may not be very full, but far from empty it is, you can count on that, yes sir! And good for me that I have Boo here to help. But... Boo wants to know, why are you dressed up for bad dwarfly fashion show?"  
  
Korgan glared, huffed, and put his fists firmly against his hips. "Just what I'd expect from some durned sun-baked human. These I bought with me money left from that little tomb-raid we did a while back, remember ye fallen log? We did all the fightin' an' you did all the 'I'm gettin bitten by vampires' shyte."  
  
Minsc nodded gravely. "Stop making me try to remember. You're words are making Boo worry."  
  
Korgan laughed and slapped the ranger's thigh as he walked past him. "It matters not. I'll make this quick. You travelin' north?"  
  
Minsc nodded. "We go ahead to were snow falls from the sky and where hamsters and rangers tell of their great deeds of goodness and..."  
  
"Oh shut yer yapper," Korgan huffed, "I'm sayin' I'll go with ye as far as Waterdeep. Are ye goin' there or not?"  
  
Minsc blinked, then held Boo up to his ear for a moment. "Boo says Ok. But only if you wash your mouth with good powerful cleaning oil."  
  
"Tell that rodent he can bite my..."  
  
And so the two set off. Heading north to touch base with Candlekeep first, and of course stopping at any of the hundreds of tiny villages along the way. Their destination would be Waterdeep, the Jewel of the North. From there, Minsc would continue on to his homeland... or... that was the plan.  
  
***************  
  
Icewind Dale. Flats before the Western Mountains.  
  
"Well.. it IS hard to make out, hmm? Not a bad spot, well concealed." Kincaid observed, leaning over to his lover as the two tried to make out the Planer Sphere. Neither paid much attention to the biting cold wind. Kincaid was naturally highly resistant, and Viconia's fluffy white boots granted her more then adequate resistance to cold. Aside from her boots, Viconia wore only a light, translucent robe that covered her about as well as it protected from the wind. One her wrists she wore a pair of Holy Symbols. Curiously enough, she possessed two. On her eyes she wore a gift from her lover, a pair of special lenses not even a hairsbreadth in thickness that Kincaid had enchanted to protect her sensitive eyes from the blinding light of the sun (A thoughtful gift indeed, considering that the snow reflected that sunlight a hundred fold).  
  
Kincaid wore little more then she. A Pair of leggings that he had cut off just below the knees and some waterproof boots completed his attire. A belt held up the half-leggings, which he had nicknamed "shorts", and a bag of holding hung at the belt. His wild, dark-blue hair was tossed in whipping wind. Kincaid was loving every moment of it. After enduring the blistering sun and heat of Athkatla, and then the desert region of Saradush, Icewind Dale's cold chill was a welcome experience. With their casual dress and stance, the two looked like a pair of Gods who had come down from their lofty thrones to examine one of their latest creations.  
  
Viconia chuckled. "Hmm. Well-concealed in the middle of nowhere. When you said you wanted to choose a peaceful place, I didn't think it would be one so desolate."  
  
Kincaid sighed. "You are a difficult woman to please."  
  
The drow smiled but said nothing. Then she noticed a movement to her right. Were it not for the lenses, the blinding sunlight would have kept her from seeing anything at all. Something large was crawling in the snow. It was able to do so silently, thanks to the howling wind, and it blended it so well that she only saw it move by sheer luck, Viconia knew. She nudged Kincaid, and whispered something in drow, a language he was starting to understand well. The man nodded and glanced around.  
  
"What is it?" She hissed after a moment.  
  
"Tundra yeti, would be my guess." He murmured. He reached in his bag of holding and withdrew one of his surviving weapons, the Blade of Roses. The beautiful weapon gleamed in the sunlight, adding even more layers of beauty to its already lustrous make. Viconia noted how the sword also made him look even better, if at all possible, and smiled darkly.  
  
As she reached into Kincaid's bag of holding for her own weapon, the now two-headed Flail of Ages (the surviving heads were acid and poison) she asked, "Any helpful clues as to what they are?"  
  
The man scratched his chin for a moment, then pointed to one area of snow to another, then another, counting as he went. "Three.. four, five.... Hm. Well, apparently, they are pack-hunters." When the dark elf did not look amused, he continued. "I've read a little about them in Candlekeep. They are... well, think of them as kin to your own deep bears, fur and all." With that he turned back to face the mountains, whispering. "I don't think they know we know... so let's...."  
  
The drow nodded imperceptivity and followed suit.  
  
The two waited, weapons bared but not moving. Both breathing slowly to counter their heightening heart rate. Two times Viconia thought she saw out of the corner of her eye one of the yet prepare to burst our of the snow and had to stop herself from pre-empting her own attack. Beside her, Kincaid had closed his eyes, his weaponless hand reached out to hold hers.  
  
The crunch of snow behind them was their only warning. The two sprinted away from each other instantly, a moment later the spot where they were standing was smashed by a large driftwood-club.  
  
Kincaid cartwheeled to his left and came to his feet, weapon ready. To his chagringe, he faced off against three Yeti, rather then two. "My mistake." He whispered to himself as he dove aside, avoiding one vicious swipe of a nearby Yeti's paw. Using his lesser height to his advantage, Kincaid charged in under the attack and scored a deep gash across the attacking Yeti's thigh. The blow cost him, though, as he was immediately blasted back by the second Yeti's attack, a crushing paw-swipe across his chest. He landed hard and deep in a snowdrift, winded.  
  
Viconia had better luck, immediately after evading the initial attack, she sprung at the first Yeti. Still recovering from his failed attack, the Yeti had no defense against the limber drow's flail. The two heads crushed the creature's right leg at the knee. Howling in pain, the Yeti tried to swat the drow with a backhanded blow. The agile drow smoothly turned and threw herself into a half-backflip, using the momentum to strike overhead with the flail as she fell just a foot short of the powerful blow. The Yeti, however, caught the attack fully and both his elbow and forearm were crushed. Viconia landed in the soft snow and instantly scrambled back to her feet. With both it's right limbs rendered useless, the Tundra Yeti fell to it's remaining knee, keening in agony. The drow's eyes narrowed darkly at the beast and she swung hard at his head, now within range. The keening stopped.  
  
Kincaid burst out of the snowdrift, weapon leading in one hand and fire burning in his other. As soon as he was within range of his first opponent, he stopped and pointed at him with his burning hand, speaking a single syllable as he did. Fire streamed in a straight, 2-foot jet from his hand and hit the leading Yeti full in the chest. The beast screamed and ran the other way, allowing Kincaid to hit his back too. Unfortunately, his fur did not catch on fire, being so full of snow as it was.  
  
Kincaid sighed and prepared another spell as the other two Yeti quickly closed the space between them. With a singular gesture, the air around Kincaid erupted into a blazing inferno. The sunfire spell threw the two Yeti on to their backs, giving Kincaid a moment to catch his breath and see how Viconia was doing. One Yeti already lay dead, another was held immobile and forced to watch as the drow faced off against the third.  
  
"I got first blood, you make dinner tonight." She shouted at his as she nimbly sidestepped a powerful overhead strike and retreated.  
  
"No. I got first BLOOD! You just got the first kill." Kincaid retorted, hands already moving through the gestured of another spell.  
  
"The two terms are the same where I come from. You make dinner."  
  
Kincaid smiled as a thought occurred to him. "I hope you like steak, we'll have them in great supply."  
  
The drow made a face. Her opponent swung hard parallel to the ground, making the same mistake its companion had. Namely, underestimating the drow's agility. Viconia waited until the last moment and crouched down to jump, avoiding the blow in the process. The Yeti's arm went out wide and up came Viconia. The Flail of Ages stuck hard, caving in the beast's skull with one stroke. It fell heavily to the ground. It did not move. The remaining Yeti, held immobile, could only watch in fear as the comparatively tiny drow advanced. If it could, it would be shaking.  
  
Meanwhile, with one of Kincaid's Yeti being crushed to a pulp by a gigantic, disembodied hand, the other two were somewhat hesitant about taking on the blue-haired mage. Kincaid used their hesitation to his advantage, casting Greater Malision on the two. The two Yeti blinked, unable to comprehend to effects of the spell, then slowly advanced. Kincaid smiled at one and waved, as if to wave goodbye and pointed. A spectral hand shot from his finger and flew unerringly towards the doomed Yeti, slamming into its chest. At that moment, the Yeti knew no fear, or pain, only death. Its life had been snuffed out. Angered, the remaining Yeti, the one with burn marks on it's chest and back, went into a mad frenzy and charged headlong at the mage.  
  
Kincaid braced himself for the attack, raising his bloodstained (But still quite beautiful) sword in front of him. Hesitating for just a second, he then changed his mind and dove straight ahead instead, right between the charging Yeti's legs, slicing an ankle as he did. Kincaid rolled and came up quickly, completing the stroke by digging the sword deep into the beast's other leg, right behind the kneecap. Desperate, the Yeti threw itself on it's back in an attempt to squash to human under it's weight. However, it only landed on snow. Kincaid stood where it had been standing a second before making a gesture with his hand. The Yeti struggled to get at him, but as soon as it sat up it was pelted in rapid succession by four brightly burning arrows. Three did little damage, but at the close range, Kincaid was able to put the forth right through the creature's throat.  
  
"Hmm... didn't you say 'five'?" Said a familiar feminine voice behind him.  
  
Kincaid turned from the dying Yeti, ignoring its death throes as a parent would ignore the screams of a disobedient child. "Everyone is entitled to make mistakes."  
  
Viconia's dark eyes softened as she got a better look at her lover, and her hands went to his chest. "You're hurt."  
  
"It's.."  
  
"Nothing?" She finished for him. "If that is so, then you should have no problem making dinner..."  
  
Kincaid look positively horrified for a moment. "No... I was trying to say 'It's terrible. I don't think I can go on.'"  
  
Viconia smirked, then allowed herself to smile, as though she'd been fighting it. "I thought you wanted someplace peaceful."  
  
Kincaid looked at her as though she had just turned into one of the Tundra Yetis they had put down. "Viconia.... this IS peaceful. It doesn't get any quieter then this."  
  
-------------------  
  
I'm sorry this took so long, but I normally drink my tea with milk. Not too much, of course, but some milk and surger. Well.. I guess it depends of the type of tea. Anyway. This was chapter 4, so I guess the next chapter would be.... uh... uhmm.... like... uh....  
  
uhh.... err..... hmmmm..... y'know... like seven or something.  
  
I know a lot of you are thinking or asking a lot of questions, or maybe not, who knows. All I know is that I cannot repel the words of the Golden Eel. There's really not much you can do about it... it's like some sort of psyonist or something. And then there's Kung Paw, which, like Final Fantasy the movie, will become a cult classic given several decades. It had a lot of laughs, and I had the whole theater to myself so I could laugh as loud as I want. That was cool. I could be like... mystery science theatering the movie.  
  
"It's called a change-over. The movie goes on, and no one in the audience has any clue."  
  
I'd like to take a moment to thank those few of you who have reviewed my work. I'm really happy. You guys think well of me. You REALLY think well of me. I'm so touched. And I used to be worried that you guys were all kind and yes-man like with the reviews, so I didn't know what to think of mine. However, after reading the reviews for this fanfic called "Data" I felt a whole lot better.  
  
Again REALLY sorry about taking so long with this update but you see... something happened to me last Thursday while I was writing. I had a few paragraphs to go--- I looked up and saw a strange glowing object heading for me. It was moving very irregularly. When I came to, I was on the floor... 


	5. Conspiracy

Disclaimer: We do not guarantee that the Final Aeon will permanently defeat Sin, and in no way insinuate that you will live after using it. Use at your own risk.  
  
Jon Irenicus sniffed a couple of times, then smiled: Ah... I smell eggs.  
  
Dislexic: Uh-huh. They're very good for you, the whites mostly. They're good for building muscles.  
  
Irenicus: Then why do you still weigh 135?  
  
Dislexic: Hey! I've only, like, just started weightlifting, like, in December. Give me a few more months, okay?  
  
Irenicus: Heh heh, sure. Anyway, back to the interview. Now I am curious, Dislexic, Aren't you going to have some more imaginary guests here later on? What of Amylessan the Darkhearted?  
  
Dislexic shook his head: Nope, can't spell her name right, so says de people. But you might see some Characters from other games here.  
  
Irenicus: Until then... Well anyway, as we saw in the previous chapter, Jaheira, Imoen and Valygar are on the trail of the Murderer, while Minsc and Korgan."  
  
Dislexic: Don't forget Boo and Lilarcor.  
  
Irenicus: Riiiiiight. While Minsc, Korgan, Boo, and Lilarcor sojourn to Rasheman, making a pit stop in Waterdeep along the way to stock up on Lays and Coke.  
  
Dislexic: Just about, yeah.  
  
Irenicus: And what of Kincaid and Viconia? What will they be doing in the meantime?  
  
Dislexic: For the most part, having sex.  
  
Irenicus: I see. Say is this rumor about you writing a lemon going to be a reality?  
  
Dislexic: It might, though I'm not sure if my work can keep up with that of certain 14-year-old girls who just squeeze them out like nothing. So I just may never write a full-fledged lemon, but there will be lemon-juice in my fics.  
  
Irenicus: Lemon-juice you say?  
  
Dislexic: Yeah, it goes well with tea.  
  
----------------------  
  
Chapter 5  
  
Conspiracy  
  
Athkatla. Waukeen's Promenade. The Adventurer's Mart.  
  
Valygar shifted nervously as Imoen went from one spell scroll to the next, occasionally handing one to him. Despite the fact that he was more at ease where magic was concerned, the ranger still had his misgivings and doubted he would ever truly become comfortable with the magical arts. In fact, these misgivings helped to shape Valygar's skills as a ranger. While Minsc had honed his combat prowess to a priority, Valygar focused on resisting the vile effects of magic and could now ward off even the deadliest of spells. Despite this fact, Valygar shifted nervously while accepting another scroll from the pink-haired mage.  
  
"Ah! Genai Lunare." The mage exclaimed as she fished out another scroll and read the sigil that sealed it.  
  
"What spell is that?" Valygar asked wearily.  
  
Imoen shook her head. "Not a spell, a mage, this was made by her, it seems."  
  
Valygar waited restlessly for an explanation, then prompted her when none was forthcoming. "And she is...?"  
  
Imoen looked up and blinked. "Hm? Oh, Kincaid and I knew her from a tavern we used to frequent. The Red Dragon Inn." Imoen paused and her face clouded over with momentary sadness. "Unfortunately it burned down years ago... we had a few good memories there."  
  
Imoen sighed, holding the scroll in her hands like a precious memento before adding it to Valygar's armful. "I think I'll have it as a keepsake."  
  
Valygar eyed the scroll as a guard would a known thief. "What does it do?"  
  
"Well, knowing Genai..." Imoen stopped herself in mid-sentence as she remembered who she was talking to and turned away from him, her cheeks flushed a color that matched her hair. "It... uhm... well... it's one of those spells."  
  
Valygar didn't quite understand enough about magic to even begin to grasp what she was implying. He let it drop, though, muttering under his breath about foul magic and why he'd ever let Imoen talk him into going with her to do some spell shopping. Imoen continued on to another scroll. She held it up to the light in her slim, delicate hands, and then set it back down.  
  
Valygar regarded the young woman quietly, almost longingly. Behind her seemingly frivoles, cheerful demeanor was an intelligent, methodical woman. His respect for her had always been a constant, though you would not think it would be, given her magical background. Many times she had been responsible for quelling a would-be disaster. Her and her magic, he reminded himself. Yes, the ranger could also fail to hide his appreciation for her taking time to teach him about the art. As she had told him, he indeed felt that the more he learned about magic's mysterious ways the less fear and loathing he felt towards it.  
  
"Valygar? What are you thinking?" Imoen asked softly when she noticed he had spaced out.  
  
"Arguing with myself..." He murmured.  
  
"What?"  
  
Valygar snapped awake and straightened his stance. "Huh? Oh, nothing..."  
  
Imoen peered cautiously at the man, but said nothing. The pair presented their selection to Ribald Batterman, the proprietor of the Adventurer's mart. He greeted them with a smile and the usual 'How are things?' before getting down to business. Valygar stood by in amazement as Imoen gradually brought Ribald's prices down to but a fraction of what he originally asked. Despite this, the merchant never seemed upset at the loss to his profits. Imoen's disarmingly cheerful demeanor kept a smile on his face as she worked her way down to paying dirt-cheap prices for some of the best-quality spell scrolls in Athkatla.  
  
Not that the anti-mage city had an abundance of those, mind.  
  
"Look you, I've never gone below a thousand for scrolls of that level, but seeing as you're a regular customer and that you're buying so many I'll ask for... 985." Ribald was saying when Jaheira entered. The Half-elf looked even more troubled then ever, and it showed plainly on her face.  
  
Imoen smiled cheerfully at the merchant and casually brushed some hair from her face, she was about to make a counter offer when Jaheira tugged on her arm. "What?"  
  
"It's happened again. Twice more in the city and I've received word that two more bodies have been discovered in Trademeet-" The half-elf stopped herself, and eyed Ribald. The merchant raised his hands in the 'I want nothing to do with whatever it is' gesture and remembered he had something important to do on the other side of the store.  
  
Valygar watched him go, then looked over his shoulder at Jaheira. "The same way?"  
  
The druid shook her head. "One was hung, the other poisoned. In Trademeet the first body was beaten with a blunt object and the other was thrown off of the top of the Alibakkar estate. It does not make much sense. The only constant in this is the circle of tear-shaped blood drops around the bodies. If not for that, we would have thought them to be any other-"  
  
"Murder." Imoen quietly finished for her. She looked up into her half-elven friends eyes and saw that she understood. Valygar too, nodded.  
  
"All murdered... it doesn't matter how" He breathed, leaning against the desk that now held Imoen's choice of scrolls.  
  
Jaheira was silent for several moments before adding. "That's not all. According to my sources-"  
  
"You mean your Harper friends." Valygar gently put. It was more a way to remind her that she need not keep secrets from them then anything else.  
  
Jaheira nodded. "Call then what you would. According to them, the Murder's where committed in twelve-hour intervals. First a homeless man in the Bridge district was hung at dusk two days ago. Then, a young boy was hurled from the top of the Alibakkar estate at dawn."  
  
Valygar took a moment to digest this. "Trademeet is a full day's travel from here."  
  
Jaheira nodded. "So you see what worries me. This is no single murderer, lest he be a quick one.  
  
Imoen sighed and waved Ribald over. The merchant, who had been subtly watching them from the far side of the shop, obliged.  
  
The young mage smiled pleasantly and gestured towards the small pile of scrolls. "Say, we have some important, world-saving business to attend to so... let's say 650 each and I'll tell any young aspiring adventurer I meet where I get my good stuff from, eh?"  
  
This time, Ribald fidgeted somewhat, but with a little more coaxing from the attractive young woman he let go a final offer of 720 each, which Imoen gladly accepted.  
  
******************  
  
Somewhere on the road. It doesn't matter.  
  
Korgan's hand occasionally strayed to the handle of his axe, a blade legend called the Frostreaver. The world held weapons of greater power, Korgan knew, but such weapons were often in the hands of those who would use them more. The dwarf found that, these days at least, a mug of ale would just as likely be in his hand as an axe handle. Idle indeed. Walking on the road had painfully reminded him everywhere from his heels to his buttocks what toll that idleness had taken on his body. Korgan simply endured this with typical dwarven stoicism, though, and said not a word.  
  
Not that he was interested in conversing with his addle-minded companion in any case, mind.  
  
Minsc, for his part, was simply overjoyed to be breathing in the fresh air again. And to be on his way to his homeland. And to be known as a hero the world over, or so he fondly hoped. Every now and then he'd start singing a song most eight-year-olds could better. Boo seemed appreciative of this. Korgan did not.  
  
"For the last blasted time you belly-bladder for a bagpipe," The dwarf roared when Minsc was in the third stanza of Evil cannot run from a hamster. "Shut yer hole else me axe may cut it off."  
  
Minsc looked somewhat startled, then confused. "Err... Boo wants to know, how you cut off a hole?"  
  
Korgan stopped and furrowed his brow. ".... It can happen."  
  
The ranger was easily sidetracked, however, and started running off, yelling, "Ohh, squirrels! I know I saw them. Quick Boo! Throw nuts!"  
  
"Damn ye." The dwarf huffed as he tried to keep up. By the time he reaches Minsc at the forest line, the ranger and his hamster were both kneeling and tossing small nuts this way and that. Korgan frowned at them and grumbled irritably under his breath. Minsc looked up at his arrival and smiled.  
  
"Come on! Help us feed the squirrels." The ranger called out happily. "Boo says it will take your mind off of what makes your blood pressure go so high. Though I know not what this 'blood pressure' means."  
  
Korgan favored the ranger with an incredulous look. "Ye mean you want me to throw nuts at these durned rats?" He demanded doubtfully.  
  
Minsc nodded and tossed another handful into the trees. A few squirrels made an appearance and quickly snatched them up, stuffing the nuts into their cheeks until tripling the width of their heads. As one scampered up a tree, Korgan grabbed a fair-sized nut and threw it. The small missile hit its mark and the small rodent fell off the tree, letting go of its cache of nuts as it fell.  
  
Korgan crossed his arms over his chest triumphantly while Minsc gave him a withering look. "When you're right, you're right."  
  
With that, the dwarf scooped up a handful of nuts and pelted one squirrel after another. Boo scurried into the safety of Minsc's food pouch.  
  
"You don't need to force-feed them, friend." Minsc started. "Squirrels are able to feed themselves, though Boo says you have nice distance."  
  
"Twenty-one... twenty-two... twenty-three." Korgan counted under his breath hurling nuts one after another. Another squeaking sound and the occasional falling body rewarded each throw. "Nonsense Minsc, we need to feed the things, right?"  
  
Another squeak, another squirrel fell.  
  
******************  
  
The Planer Sphere. The Afterglow.  
  
Viconia let out a long, well-satisfied sigh of content and stretched like a cat. The dim candlelight played on her bare, ebony skin. The sweat that covered her body, a testament to the excursion she had happily put herself through moments before, glistened like tiny diamonds all over her nude body. Her well-toned muscles flexed under that lust-inspiring skin. For a moment, she looked like the obsidian sculpture of a goddess.  
  
Kincaid kneeled over her body, one knee on either side of her waist, watching her stretch. When most women raised their arms over their heads like that their breasts would flatten and disappear. Not Viconia's. Her's were full and perfect and, like every other part of her body, Kincaid found that he could stare at them for hours.  
  
A lustful smile curved the drow's lips as she laced her fingers behind her head. "You're welcome to do more then look, Lover."  
  
Kincaid responded his a wicked smile of his own. "Don't tempt me; we may never leave this bed."  
  
Viconia waited expectantly before saying, "And your point is..."  
  
The human threw his head back and sighed through his widening grin. He looked down to see Viconia staring at him. "I seem to remember your telling me that I was the only woman you'd ever been with..." She remarked quietly.  
  
Kincaid nodded slowly.  
  
"Then..." The elf continued, "Where exactly did you learn that?"  
  
Kincaid smiled innocently, "Learn what?"  
  
"You know what I'm talking about. That thing you did earlier." She nudged him with one shapely thigh.  
  
The human smiled and licked his lips suggestively. "Oh... that. You liked that didn't you?"  
  
The Drow's smile was more then enough of an answer.  
  
He lowered himself on to her, planting small kisses on her still sweaty neck. "Would you believe 'From a book'"?  
  
"I'm afraid not. I believe a woman taught that to you." She murmured, softly in her lover's ear as he worked his way up her neck. One slender, black hand crawled up and down his muscular back.  
  
"Would I lie to you? I honestly learned it from a book in Candlekeep." Kincaid traced the outline of her ear with his tongue. Elves were sensitive to such attention, and Viconia was no exception. The elf let out a little gasp and shuddered in response. "It was a book brought over from Kara-Tur, I recall... The Karma Satara.... no, The Coma Surtra.... You know... one of those odd names."  
  
Just then a glowing disk appeared not far from the two entwined lovers. Magical fire danced around the disk's edge as his formed a smooth, shiny, glasslike surface. A cloudy image slowly took focus into the face of a young woman with reddish-pink hair.  
  
"Kincaid! Viconia! Are you ther-" The face in the disk stopped in mid-sentence. "Oh... I take it this is a bad time..."  
  
Kincaid looked over his shoulder. "Hm? Oh, hi Imoen." He looked apologetically to a disappointed Viconia. The drow moaned and reached for her robe that was lying on the floor. Kincaid, however, put two fingers in his mouth and whistled. In response, his cutoff leggings stood up and walked over to him.  
  
"So," The wizard started to say as he pulled them on. "To what do I owe the honor of this sending?"  
  
Imoen, who had been covering her eyes (though she peeked through them every now and then), said, "Look, I know you don't want to hear this but... there's a problem. People are being murdered and the symbol of Bhaal is left around their bodies. Ok, there. I said it."  
  
Kincaid groaned and dropped his head to his hands. "You were right. I didn't want to hear that."  
  
Viconia got into a more comfortable sitting position beside Kincaid. "What good does it do to tell us? We are thousands of miles away, and we're not about to get this thing working again just so we can rush headlong into another misadventure." She looked to Kincaid for support. "Right?"  
  
The human nodded and turned to the disk. "She's right. If worse comes to worse, I can get this sphere moving again but it's not nearly as easy as you might think."  
  
"That's not why I contacted you." Imoen replied. "Jaheira told me that-"  
  
"Imoen, you can uncover your eyes now. It's rather unsettling to be talking to you while you look like that." Viconia pointed out dryly.  
  
"Oh, right." the mage continued. "Jaheira said that she had been informed, through her Harper sources, that these murder's are happening elsewhere. They seem to be coordinated. I hope it's just here in Amn but..." The young woman went silent for a moment. Her face darkened. Despite all they had been through, she still did not like to see, hear about, or have anything to do with murder and death. Kincaid could easily understand that. "Well... I just hope its only happening here."  
  
Kincaid nodded. A smile came to his lips as he remembered a quote. "Whenever I think I can relax someone hastens to brutally point out to me that I've fresh work to do. It's time to save the world again."  
  
Imoen smiled. "From Storm Silverhand?"  
  
Kincaid nodded. "It would seem that I can claim those words for myself, as well." He then turned to explain the quote for the benefit of his drow lover, who carelessly shrugged. When his gaze returned to Imoen's sending, he saw a wistful look on her face. "What is it?"  
  
Imoen bit her lip. "Things are going well for you, aren't they?"  
  
Kincaid smiled and brushed away and errant lock of hair. "I'm greatly enjoying my vacation time, yes."  
  
Viconia wrapped her arms around his broad shoulders and leveled a cool look at Imoen. "Actually, we're greatly enjoying each other, or were, I might add. A certain sending appeared in our bedchambers and caused an interruption. Were this the underdark, such an action would warrant death, brutal and immediate. I would know."  
  
Imoen lowered her gaze. "Uh, yeah... really sorry about that."  
  
Kincaid sighed and shook his head at the ever-neutral ceiling. "Things are not going as well for you?" He asked quickly.  
  
"Well... yes, I suppose. Things are great, aside from the murders and the odd stares people send my way and the... " Her voice trailed off.  
  
Kincaid nodded. "Imoen... Valygar is one of those strong-and-silent walking monolith types. Honor is his creed. You need to be more assertive, methinks." He flashed her a cheerful smile, encouraging her to do likewise. "You'll be fine."  
  
The face in the disk nodded once, then faded. The disk followed soon thereafter.  
  
For a while, the two sat in the darkness silently. Viconia rested her head in her lover's shoulder and he reached up to gently stroke her silky white hair. "You're not happy about this." He noted quietly.  
  
"You've pointed out what's already painfully obvious, good for you." The elf murmured.  
  
"I'm good at that, aren't I?" The man replied easily. "Why, just the other day I made the discovery that the sky was blue. This being a thing of historic importance, I decided to write it down."  
  
Viconia smirked despite herself. "And here I was thinking it was black."  
  
Kincaid looked thoughtful. "Well... it's been known to change colors."  
  
"I just don't get it." She sighed as she let herself fall back on to the bed. "If some knife-happy murderers weed out the weak, those who let themselves be killed, why should you care?"  
  
Kincaid half-smiled. "You have a point. If it were some knife-happy murderer, I would care not. But anything that has to do with Bhaal will eventually come back to me, I've learned." He took one of her slender black hands and held it against his face meaningfully. A simple gesture, perhaps, but far more powerful then words between the two. "I'd rather confront it, and hope for the best."  
  
The drow resigned herself to her fate, shaking her head as she watched the road ahead take a rockier path. She had been serious when she brought up the idea of a quiet, peaceful place to live that day in the forests north of Umar Hills. The surface was indeed a hostile place for any drow to make herself at home. With Kincaid by her side, it seemed a better place to be. No other human, no other surfacer had offered as much as he without demanding anything in return. Most surface dwellers took one look at her dark skin and reached for the nearest bladed object.  
  
The dark elf reflected on their lives together. Once, after all his kindness and understanding, she had felt unworthy of him. Him! A male! And a human male at that. She had tried to push him away, first with deceit then with a full-blown argument, but he would have none of it. He had saved her life more then once, more then twice, and had the capacity to bring himself to fall in love with an outcast drow. They had argued, true, and insults had often gone both ways, but in the end he had defeated her. Viconia could not succeed in pushing him away. Further more, she no longer wanted to. His patience and understanding won in the end, and Viconia knew that if to follow him were to walk into death, she would go quietly.  
  
"I'll come with you." She whispered quietly.  
  
Kincaid nodded. "Tomorrow we'll check Tentowns and see if there's been any murders there. Then we'll head south."  
  
Viconia absorbed this quietly then looked up to meet his intense blue eyes. "But not until tomorrow." She said suggestively. Her hand snaked around to get a grip on her lover's hair and pulled him down. Kincaid was only too eager to comply.  
  
---------------------  
  
I've had less tea this time, and for that I apologize. Though in recompense, I've eaten plenty of eggs. I know some of you may think that my updates are long in coming... well, you're wrong. They take days because they're long, and I have work, sleep, workouts, and sleepouts. Furthermore, I have less tea. You know... I hit overtime last night, so they might give me tomorrow off. Not that any off this means anything to you. Sometimes I wonder about the whole lemon deal.  
  
Why lemons? Why not peaches? What? Are peaches too obvious?  
  
"Why yes, I just ate myself a peach and had a glass of lemonade." I suppose it's nothing. Everytime I change to a new environment, though, I must adapt to the new protocol. But still, have you tried to eat a lemon? It makes your face go like THIS! Look at me; my cheeks are all sucked in and... Well... it's the lemon-face deal. Eat a peach and you look like THIS! See? I'm smiling! I have that fresh-peach-taste-in-my-mouth smiley face on. And don't even get me started on cherries. That taste is just... mph! Oh yeah!  
  
But I guess cherries are too obvious also. So we write lemons, rather then any other type of fruit.  
  
"How do you like them apples?"  
  
There's another one. Apples. Red and ripe, you could just bit right into them and let the flavor flow. And for you ladies, we have bananas! I remember this watermelon I had once, I couldn't finish it by myself because it was too big.  
  
Now before I pass out (The pill's wearing off) I'd like to thank you for your time. Those of you who read, please review (One in ten will actually do so, I know). Also, I hope those of you who like to smell lemons enjoy to mild lemon-scent I add to my chapters.  
  
Lemon-scent is where you can smell a lemon... but you never actually see one...... 


	6. And so it Begins

Disclaimer: Use only in an open, well-ventilated area. If you begin to feel any of the following symptoms, seek a fresh air outdoors: Shortness of breath, wheezing, watery eyes, headaches, stomachaches, coughing, erectile dysfunction, impotency, and patriotism.  
  
Jon Irenicus heavily shook one of Dislexic's packets of Tonic and squirted it in his mouth: Yeuch! I can't believe you drink this stuff once a day!  
  
Dislexic: Boo says stuff that is good for you rarely tastes good.  
  
Irenicus: Boo?  
  
Dislexic: My hamster. A Dwarf Siberian hamster with grayish brown fur.  
  
Irenicus: Figures. Now something interests me about how the story is progressing..."  
  
Dislexic: Shoot.  
  
Irenicus: It seems that Kincaid and Viconia are once again pulled into the adventurer's life and will be leaving the comforts of Sphere... or home if you will. Does this mean that there will be less of a lemony scent in their scenes?  
  
Dislexic: I can answer that question by asking you another one... can you pass me that magazine there?"  
  
Irenicus: Which one? Ahh... The Right Stuff?  
  
Dislexic: That's the one... ahh, here we are. Jon, you never saw Bastard! have you?  
  
Irenicus: No, they didn't have Anime in Suldanessalar.  
  
Dislexic: Well they have it by the armful here. I'm just not sure what to order. You can only see Cool Devices so many times without wanting something new, y'know?  
  
Irenicus: Speaking of, do you plan on writing a fanfic for that too?  
  
Dislexic: Feh. It would never get past the censors. By the way, with regards to the Blackrazor and it's presence in the story, that too will be explained in time.  
  
Irenicus: I was wondering about that too. This Kincaid character of your is good, correct? Why then, would he have such an evil blade in Chapter 1?  
  
Dislexic: Be patient and find out.  
  
Irenicus: Also, Kincaid's massive hit points were point out as well... interesting math work, that.  
  
Dislexic: Did he factor in the familiar's hit points?  
  
Irenicus: I think he skipped that one.  
  
Dislexic: oh, in any case, all shall be revealed in time. Tea quantities providing, of course.  
  
Staff of Midnight.  
  
Near microscopic runes cover much of the surface of this pitch-black staff. Its surface does not even seem to reflect light. As a weapon, the Staff of midnight draws on the magical energies of its wielder, making it impossible for any but one proficient in magic to wield. Many scholars speculate how any mage could make full use of this staff, for the magical energies that flow through it are more focused on melee combat then actual spell casting. It would seem that whoever were to wield this staff would not only need to be a mage, but a knowledgeable fighter as well. Apparently, it's maker, the sword saint-turned-mage Jered Kincaid was such a person.  
  
Statistics  
  
Armor Class: +3 bonus  
  
Saving Throws: +2 bonus to saves vs. death, breath and wands.  
  
1 additional attack per round  
  
Dispel Magic  
  
50% chance with each hit magic will be dispelled on target  
  
Thaco: +4  
  
Damage: 2d4 +5, +6 magical damage, +1d4 +3 cold damage  
  
Damage type: Crushing  
  
Weight: 5  
  
Type: 2-handed  
  
Proficiency type: Quarterstaff  
  
Requires: 15 strength, 15 intelligence.  
  
Speed Factor: 1  
  
Usable by:  
  
Mage  
  
Gloves of the Tundra Yeti  
  
Fashioned from the hands of a strong Tundra Yeti, these gloves have been magically enchanted to grant its wearer with the strength the creature once possessed. In addition, these white-furred gloves also give the wearer a degree of protection from the harsh, cold elements that the Tundra Yeti live through each day.  
  
Statistics  
  
Sets users strength to 18/98  
  
Grants 30% protection from cold, magical of otherwise.  
  
Usable by:  
  
Fighters  
  
Thieves  
  
Clerics  
  
  
  
-------------------  
  
Chapter 6  
  
And so it begins  
  
Bhaal is dead, yet I am still alive. I never thought for a moment that I should deserve the same judgment as he. I am my own person; I should not be held accountable for his actions, should I? The world does not seem to hold my point of view. Who can blame them? They are frightened, all of them. They fear death, and rightly so. To die is to end, a thing no one would look forward too. Sane, that is. For them, I am the epitome of their fear, or rather, the son of it. Bhaal, Lord of Murder, was my father. For that reason, I deserve all of their hate. All of their fear.  
  
Why? Do they not do deeds worse then my own? The human race is by no means one of goodly weal. The Zhentarim, an organization that requires no introduction, is largely comprised of humans. Some would say exclusively. Murder, rape, thievery and other crimes are committed daily, if not hourly, by members of this race. These people who lead lives filled with greed and hatred are none other then the people who condemn me for the blood that flows in my veins.  
  
It makes sense, I suppose.  
  
And then my thoughts turn towards Viconia, the renegade drow by my side. From a distance, I can only imagine how completely opposite we would appear. She is dark where I am light, and vise-versa. She has strengths that I do not, and weaknesses I do not possess. My hair is the hue of her skin, and her hair, mine. From a distance, we could not be more different, but in truth we have more in common then anyone will ever know. We are both outcasts, renegades. We are kindred, she and I. I would not have it any other way. Not with any other woman. Not with anyone at all.  
  
Jered Kincaid  
  
****************  
  
Icewind Dale.  
  
The cold, icy wind swept across the snow-covered dale. With it came the chilling sting that met any open eye viewing the landscape. The stars provided semi-adequate light, unhindered by clouds that would be present in a warmer climate. As the wind picked up some snow here and there it sparkled momentarily in the starlight, giving the otherwise barren planes an ethereal glow. The beauty found here was not lost to the human who viewed it. A longing sigh escaped his lips, and then crystallized in the air before his face.  
  
Jered Kincaid stood on the wooden attached to the Sphere, just around the front door. He leaned against the smooth, cold surface of his new home. A home he was leaving behind far too soon for his liking. Just less then a month ago Amylessan the Unspellable had fallen to his blade, and he had on the freedom of a peaceful life. Or so he thought. The man let fall his head with a groan. He had thought the same when Irenicus fell... when Serevok fell.  
  
He tightened his grip on the staff he held, something he had spent the all of the previous day in the forge to create. His thoughts turned dark with bitterness. Again it comes for me, he thought, very well... I shall have to bury it.  
  
Again he raised his eyes and gazed upon the beautiful scene that would. Given several days, be to his back.  
  
"I hope we are not gone for long." He murmured as much to himself as to his elven companion.  
  
"It is too early in the night to feel nostalgic, my mrann d'ssinss. Or perhaps you feel it is not too early to call this wild quest off?" The sultry, feminine voice responded.  
  
Kincaid turned to smile at his lover suggestively. "Don't tempt me." He said in a mock-warning tone.  
  
Viconia raised a dangerous eyebrow, meeting his challenge. "Consider yourself tempted."  
  
The human chuckled and pushed himself off of the Sphere. Straightening his clothes and dusting off a handful of snow, he asked. "You have all you will need?"  
  
"I do" She replied, running a mental check of her inventory. She wore to two Holy symbols of Shar, one on each wrist, boots of frost protection, Armor of the Hart (Another surviving relic), Girdle of Fortitude and the (newly made by Kincaid) Gloves of the Tundra Yeti, which seemed to imbue her with considerable strength. She kept the two-headed Flail of ages at her side, along with the Sling of Seeking. In her hair she wore an Ioun Stone Kincaid had gifted to her long ago in the Temple of Amaunator, which would slowly heal her wounds over time. In her backpack she carried three changed of clothes and a good deal of food enspelled to prevent rotting. She wore a bag of holding at her waist, and inside, along with other things, was a more meaningful gift from the man she loved. An onyx spider figurine, Kitthix.  
  
Kincaid nodded slowly and reached out to touch the Sphere with his hand. The gigantic object let out a subtle glow and chimed twice, indicating that it was now locked. Unlike a mage tower, fortress though it may be, Kincaid's Planer Sphere was literally impregnable, sealed from all sides from both forced and magical intrusion.  
  
Kincaid took some small relief in knowing that they would not be robbed while away from home.  
  
"Well, I for one am not looking forward to this bothersome diversion. Best that we get it over with quickly." Viconia said briskly as she strode past him and began her decent down the mountainous slopes.  
  
Kincaid could not agree more.  
  
*****************  
  
Athkatla. The Copper Coronet.  
  
"This one here is more annoying then deadly." Imoen pointed out as wrote down the symbols and a small depiction of another spell. Valygar, who was studiously paying attention over her shoulder, could not read the actual runes, of course. Doing so would cause severe pain, sometimes blindness or even madness and death (depending on the spell's power). Only a mage, a person who had trained his mind to cope with the incredible energies that accompanied magic, could look upon the runes of a spell. Even then, an inexperienced mage could suffer the same effects if the spell were too powerful. "Many young mages use it, however. Simply put, the spell will render its target immobile."  
  
Valygar frowned. "Immobile? You mean like... frozen in time?"  
  
The mage shook her head. "No, it would take much more powerful magic to do that. The target stays conscious of his surroundings, but can't move. This has happened to you before, hasn't it?"  
  
Valygar nodded ruefully. "Indeed. More then once, as I recall. And every time it happened I know I'd soon feel Kincaid's staff giving me a good whack." He slammed his fist into an open hand for emphasis.  
  
Imoen chuckled despite herself at the image that brought to mind. The Staff of the Magi was a magic-canceling weapon that Kincaid had always kept with him. Aside from it's many other charming features, the staff would dispel all magic on whatever it hit and the wizard would often use it to free his fellow comrades from the effects of enemy wizard's spells. A painful cure indeed, from the unnaturally strong man, despite it's effectiveness.  
  
"Is there any way to break free from it?" The ranger asked rather eagerly. Any defensive trick against magic was welcome knowledge to him.  
  
Imoen paused as she tried to find the right words to describe what she thought. There was indeed a way to avoid the holding effects, a mental feat of no mean skill level. Mages, clerics, and others who work magic and understand (in some small extent) it's make-up always stand a better chance at warding off its ill-effects then those who train their minds and bodies in the more linear arts, such as swordfighting. "It's... you have to block it with your mind... sort of... It's so hard to explain. Think of it as a mental parry."  
  
Valygar raised an eyebrow at the expression and leaned back, visualizing the action in his head." Hm... interesting. In some strange way it makes sense."  
  
"Ah! There you are, child." Spoke the familiar voice of a half-elven druid. "We must speak, for there is precious little time."  
  
The mage and ranger regarded the approaching druid warily. Jaheira was girded for adventuring. Her Gnasher club hung ready at her side off of her Girdle of Bluntness. Her hair was mostly hidden under a helmet and her quiver was stuffed full of arrows, slung around the Gorgan Plate Mail that she wore.  
  
"So... where's the party?" Imoen asked slowly.  
  
"Calimshan, it would seem. The harpers have discovered several dead there, murdered in the same fashion, and have asked-" The inflection Jaheira gave that word let both Imoen and Valygar know exactly how they had 'asked'. Namely, they had commanded. "-me to investigate there further and leave Athkatla to Yar." Jaheira stopped then and let out a long-held-in sigh. Valygar and Imoen both sympathized. Soon enough, however, Jaheira stiffened and returned to her normal, strong-willed self. "In any case, there are few Harpers in Calimshan who are equipped for this level of work, and so I am needed there."  
  
Valygar looked suspicious. "Just like that? They want you alone, who worked side-by-side with a Bhaalspawn to be their main agent in a strange land?"  
  
The half-elf looked somewhat taken aback. "The Harpers actually put more trust in me for that. Though they did ask me of Kincaid's whereabouts. I feel sorry for him."  
  
"What did you say?" Imoen pressed urgently.  
  
"The truth, of course." Jaheira replied easily. "I know nothing of where Jered Kincaid is. They know the truth when they hear it, mind you."  
  
Valygar frowned at this blatantly honest ignorance and looked to Imoen for answers. "Where DID he go to, anyway?" The dark-skinned ranger asked slowly.  
  
Imoen shook her head. "It is best that neither of you know." She said. "For his safety, it would even be better if I didn't know either."  
  
The ranger's brow furrowed for a moment, then he made a noticeable 'Ah!' face and nodded in understanding.  
  
The pink-haired mage smiled at Jaheira. "We'll be ready in a few hours, right Val?"  
  
The ranger nodded, stood, and straightened his clothes but Jaheira looked slightly hesitant. "I came to tell you of my leaving and to bid you two farewell. I do not think you should come with me, you will be needed elsewhere."  
  
Valygar started to protest but Imoen beat him to it. "What? Isn't that what you came here to tell us, talking about precious little time? What is here for us, aside from an investigation we are not allowed to interfere with?"  
  
Valygar nodded in agreement, the Harpers would not add them to their ranks for the sake of solving the mystery behind these recent murders. A lone agent, such as Jaheira, would be a different story, but the Harpers as an organization were an entirely different matter. "Indeed. What point is there in our remaining here?"  
  
Jaheira shook her head. "No, not necessarily 'here'. I want you to look into Amkathran, investigate there while I am gone." Jaheira paused and looked at Imoen directly. "You know the spells that allow you to walk upon magic's silvery paths, correct?"  
  
Imoen smiled. "Yes, I can teleport."  
  
Jaheira offered a small shrug and a defeated smile. "Yes, well you can put it that way, I suppose. Keep those spells memorized in case you need them to leave quickly."  
  
Imoen nodded and Jaheira returned the gesture, then to Valygar before turning away.  
  
"Jaheira!" Imoen called after her. "Keep safe. find out who's behind these killings.... but keep safe."  
  
*********************(oohh.... pretty stars)*****  
  
Kayorin Irnghast knelt behind a large boulder in an outcropping of rocks, the ruins of some long-since-fallen tower. Once it had been taller by far then the nearby trees that surrounded it. Now it lay in weatherworn rubble. A testament to the fact that all things must end at some time. Kay and his three companions had been eyeing the most unlikely pair of travelers they had seen in several tendays. One was a tall, shaven barbarian of a man with a blue tattoo on his face and what appeared to be a small, furry animal on his shoulder. The other was a gray-bearded dwarf with several scars on his unpleasant face. Both were armed with apparently well-used weapons. Though they did not appear to be easy targets, Kay was confident that would prevail.  
  
Not very confident, mind.  
  
"Kay, I'm not sure, those two look no strangers to battle." Whispered the voice of Ithkarr, a whip-thin archer of considerable skill, behind him.  
  
"It doesn't have to get violent, worry not. Besides, I'm not for three days without food." Kayorin grumbled. Life had not been kind to the group of bandits. Most cities turned the suspicious lot away at the gates, and few villages would suffer their presence for more then a few days, strangers as they were. Slowly making their way north in hopes of finding a home for themselves in one of the wealthier, more open cities, the four barely survived on what precious little gold they could intimidate out of passing merchants and travelers.  
  
Sometimes those travelers were dangerous, but Kay knew they had to take the chance.  
  
The swordsman turned to his friend and said. "Keep yer aim on the big guy, he looks trouble, think Erran an' me can handle the dwarf if worse comes to worse."  
  
The archer nodded and gave several signals to the other two bandits hiding amongst the foliage on the opposite side of the road. Erran Yarrendale, a stocky, powerful fighter with one eye forever closed behind a scar that crossed half his face, returned the signals. Adel, predictably enough, could not be seen anywhere, but there was not doubt that the sneaky thief would make himself useful, though only if need be.  
  
Kay steeled himself for the confrontation ahead. Most people did not take pleasure in having their money taken from them in any fashion. As he emerged from his hiding place and approached the pair on the road, Kayorin noticed the lack of surprise on their faces. Kayorin didn't like that.  
  
"Ho, travelers! Hold a moment." The bandit called out.  
  
Minsc looked as though he would respond, but Korgan beat him to it. "What do ye want, groundling?" The surly dwarf grumbled by way of greeting.  
  
"Myself and my companions work hard to keep this road safe for friendly travelers like you and-" Kay started to say as politely as he could.  
  
"We ain't friendly, ye son-of-a-dog-loving psycho bitch." Korgan easily returned. It would seem he was in a happy mood.  
  
Minsc gave the dwarf a withering look. "That is no way to talk to friendly road caretakers. But Boo looks upon you with suspicion, little man. Where are your companions that you speak of?"  
  
Kayorin made a wide, sweeping gesture. "Why, they are all around us. They're just a bit shy, you see. As I was saying, we work hard to keep this road safe, and would appreciate any charity you could offer."  
  
Korgan patted his cold, glinting axe at his side and growled. "What do ye say about the charity of leaving with the use of yer legs?"  
  
Kay made a tsk-tsking sound. "As I may have pointed out, my companions are all around us and, believe me, we are many-"  
  
"Ye smell more like four." The battle-ready dwarf cut him short. "Who ever taught ye to ambush upwind smellin' like a green dragons mating fluids?"  
  
Minsc and Kay both made disgusted faces, only Kay's was mingled with fear and anxiety. This is not going well, he thought.  
  
"Please, little dwarf. Boo is too young to have to hear such language." Minsc said scoldingly, holding his fingers over the tiny rodent's ears. "Though he says he is glad you caught on to what these men intended and is happy he would not have to explain it to you."  
  
Korgan glared at his companion while unhooking his axe with his free hand. Alarmed, Kayorin gave the signal for Ithkarr to fire and drew his own blade. An arrow flew overhead and bounced harmlessly off the ranger's well-made plate mail. A muttered curse could be heard from behind the boulder the arrow flew from and in an instant Kay was joined by Erran, his two-handed warhammer held ready.  
  
"Look ye here, ye two." The gruff warrior spoke slowly. "We'll give ye one last chance. All we're askin for is yer gold, an' whatever pricey things ye might have on ye."  
  
"Remember," Kay added quickly, still hoping for a peaceful solution. "We are four and you are but two, and my friends next arrow will not miss its mark."  
  
"Ye're wrong, ye bug-shit-eatin' zombie rapist," Korgan bellowed, bringing his axe to bear and nudging Minsc, who already had Lilarcor ready in hand. "There are four of us as well. Meself, me friend, his rat..."  
  
"And ME!" The sword chimed, much to the amazement of the two fighters.  
  
"An' now we'll be seein' what yer guts be lookin' like!" The dwarf yelled as he charged the two bandits. Minsc rushed to follow, shouting a battle cry that died in his mouth as he tripped over something and landed hard on the ground.  
  
"Ohf!" Said Lilarcor. "If I had lungs I'd be wanting air in them after that fall."  
  
Minsc's warrior instincts took over immediately and he rolled to the side, just as Adel, who had tripped him, came down, pouncing with his dagger leading. The large ranger brought his legs up and kicked him off, hard, sending the thief flying several yards. Up came Minsc, Lilarcor flashing in front of him as Adel scrambled to his feet and drew a second dagger. This one little more then a knife.  
  
"Ohh baby... only four inches?" Lilarcor whistled.  
  
Adel gave the sword a look one would give a dog that had just soiled his best pair of boots. "You'll feel it."  
  
The thief flipped the knife end-over-end and caught it at the blade, another flick of the wrist send the weapon flying straight at the large ranger. Fortunately, Minsc was quick on his feet and easily ducked the projectile, another arrow whistled over his head he did, missing by scant inches.. Coming up, he was surprised to find himself facing nothing at all, though he noted an empty bottle on the floor, and the arrow embedded in the ground.  
  
Not far away, Korgan worked furiously against the measured strikes of the two bandits. Erran backed up his bluster with years of battle experience, feinting here and there before making a real strike, using his height to his advantage against his smaller foe, he worked to force Korgan into Kayorin's flashy blade work. Korgan paid the swordsman little heed, every now and then he'd throw a furious swing his way. Not incline to being hacked to bits, Kay easily backed away momentarily, allowing Korgan to focus more on the braver of the two.  
  
Erran's hammer swung low, parallel to the ground. Korgan hopped up and brought his axe down as he fell, but the warrior's hammer quickly came up to stop the blow. The two weapons clashed hard enough to send sparks flying as the bandit and the dwarf struggled against each other's strength. Korgan bore down with all the power in his knotted arms, but as Erran fell to one knee, he managed to bring his other foot up into the dwarf's face while keeping his balance. Korgan stumbled back and took another powerful blow in the chest as Erran followed up with a lateral swing. Kayorin lunged immediately thereafter, but his sword was quickly swatted aside by Korgan's axe and he took a fist in his stomach for his efforts.  
  
Korgan leveled a glare at Erran as he brought his axe to bear. "Is that all ye got?"  
  
Minsc's senses heightened as he searched for his invisible foe. Looking for footfalls, listening for the sound of the thief's steps, trying to feel is presence in the wind, but this thief was no rank armature and could not be so easily found. Minsc was no armature either, however, and began making fast, sudden strikes in the air that would be difficult to dodge. Minsc turned with the speed of lightning and struck immediately behind him at where the thief would attempt a backstab time and time again, but each time he only cut air. Adel was either very good, of very patient.  
  
"He's over there. No, there. No, no no... he's right there." The sword chimed before each strike.  
  
Finally, Minsc paused to regard his talking blade. "Boo says you are guessing."  
  
The sword flashed. "Yeah, well I don't see you coming up with any ideas."  
  
Minsc looked thoughtful. "I don't need to, not while I have a miniature Giant Space Hamster to come up with ideas for me. Perhaps you could use a miniature Giant Space Butter Knife to help you."  
  
Lilarcor made a sigh, then flashed again. "Say, I just thought of something. If I were a knife the best time for me to kill a suspecting foe would be..."  
  
Minsc peered at his blade expectantly, then his eyes widened and he spun, swinging the two-handed sword around behind him. This time he was rewarded with the spray of blood that accompanied the newly decapitated, newly visible body that fell to the ground the next moment.  
  
"... when he was standing there like an idiot talking to his sword." Lilarcor finished. "Hah hah! Good swing. Lots' of power behind that. Now let's to kill something else. I don't care what, just pick and slash. Kill kill kill!!  
  
Minsc was already off running in the direction of the hidden archer when Lilarcor began ranting. This time, the ranger took an arrow in his left shoulder, right between the chest and shoulder plates. Minsc fell back a step and quickly examined the wound. Neither critical, nor deeply imbedded, the wound hurt nonetheless and made it difficult for the ranger to use his arm. Undaunted, the ranger continued to advance, while his archer foe cocked another arrow.  
  
Korgan parried another sword slash, the leapt aside as Erran's hammer came down in a hard, downward stroke. The battlerager threw himself into a whirlwind attack, throwing blow after blow at Erran, far too quickly for even the seasoned veteran to parry. Frostreaver cut deep into the man's right thigh, the came around and sliced his right arm off at the elbow. The warrior howled in pain and launched a desperate strike with his remaining arm, still clutching on to his heavy axe. Before the blow could land, however, that arm, too, was lopped off by the whirling dwarf's axe. Erran fell to one knee, rendered helpless and suffering from the agonizing effects of Frostreaver's freezing acid bite.  
  
Kayorin screamed in rage and swung hard at the dwarf with a series of skillful slices and thrusts. Korgan kept low and parried whatever got close, waiting for the perfect time. Kay made a fatal mistake as he stepped forward with an overhead strike. Korgan did not try to sidestep, but rather leaped forward, too close for the flawed attack to do any good. The hilt of Kayorin's sword clinked against the back of Korgan's plate mail armor at the same time as he felt the full force of the dwarf's Power Attack. Frostreaver cut open his midsection and sent him flying back, leaving a trail of blood (and a few guts too) in his wake. Kayorin did not move.  
  
Minsc was there soon after, his bloody sword dragging across the dirt road. Behind him lay the body of the thin archer who could not put up much resistance against the might of the skilled ranger. "Ahh... another glorious battle for Minsc and Boo in the name of justice, truth, and toll- free highways the world over."  
  
******************  
  
Minsc and Korgan were far out of sight down the road when Kayorin opened his eyes. He knew he was dying, the wound was too severe and no cleric could help him. His eyes stared blankly at the sky, waiting for piece to find him.  
  
He was still waiting when a figure obstructed his view. Kayorin's eyes widened in fear that any man should feel when seeing such a person. Despite his impending death, Kay felt fear grip his dying heart as though he had more to lose. His lips moved, but no words could be formed. The last thing Kayorin ever knew, was the feeling of a ritual stone short blade plunging into his heart, ending his life more quickly then his wounds would have granted.  
  
The figure stood up, holding out a wrist that bore countless scars, it cut into it with the same blade, letting the blood the flowed forth drop in a circle around the body.  
  
-------------------------  
  
I need scissors... 12! my stomach is holding perhaps too much tea, but that's okay, because my grip on reality is a little loose, right now. I must first apologize for being so late with this chapter, I was depressed momentarily, you see. It happens. It affects us authors more then you would know... or perhaps you would. I know it is difficult, especially for me, but I must remain true to the story. worry not, my faithful readers (all 4 of you), for I shall continue to follow up with updates and interviews with cast&crew along with their gamographies and outtakes. Also, expect to see me in The Making of Balduar's Gate 3: The Treasure of Black Isle.  
  
I hope you enjoyed that little fight scene there. I was just going to call it a short chapter, but I forced myself to write in that part, keeping myself awake until the ungodly hour of 5:26 pm. God! What kind of people stay up this late?!!  
  
And what is that bright object in the sky? Why does it burn my skin? I need tea! 45!  
  
Irenicus: Say... there's another question one of your reader's had here. It had to do with Imoen's ability to reach Kincaid in the Planer Sphere. He said he wants to know why the cowled wizard's would need Valygar to enter the Planer Sphere in the first place if Imoen, being a wizard, would have such easy access.  
  
Dislexic:.....  
  
Dislexic:.....  
  
Dislexic: DAMNIT! I CAN'T TAKE THIS CRITISM!! *grabs a baseball bat and swings hard at computer* AIIEEE!!!  
  
Irenicus: *Grabs bat in mid-strike* Think of everything you have on there! The poetry! The Video Games! The naked cg pictures of Nina Williams!  
  
Dislexic: *calms*... yes.... you are right.  
  
Irenicus: *Turns to reader* sorry... he hasn't had his nap yet.  
  
Dislexic: *composes self* anyway... to answer your question, faithful reader, you may recall that Teos, the Apprentice mages, and Lord Kethorn's cronies had no trouble going in and out of the Planer Sphere once the wards were dropped. Also, Imoen merely cast a sending spell, much like a phone call it is merely a spell that allows one to speak with another far away. It is conceivable that such a harmless spell would be allowed through the wards, granted that they were active in part of whole at the time. Also one should note that one cannot travel through that particular spell, nor can one effect the area where one is 'sending' too in any way other then communication. I am now going to sleep. 


	7. Trail of Death

Claimer: Seeing as these fanfics could never really be traced back to me, I've decided to claim everything. Oh yeah! I OWN Balduar's Gate 2! I reserve all rights! I own Minsc, Viconia, Imoen, and all the others. They are mine! I claim them! And if I'm wrong and this does come back to me... I hope my friends and Black Isle and Wizards of the Coast have a healthy sense of humor.  
  
Dislexic: Another long night, another meager clock out slip. Greetings there, avid readers of the life of Jered Kincaid. I am, as always, your humble author Dislexic, the tea drinker. Here with me tonight is my co- host or, if you prefer, split personality, Jon Irenicus. Jon, it's great to have you here.  
  
Irenicus: And it's good to be here, though I fail to see why you've waited this long to introduce me. In any case, the first question for tonight is likely burning in the minds of nearly every reader; Will Drizzt and his companions make an appearance now that Kincaid and Viconia are in the area of Tentowns?  
  
Dislexic: Uh... I may be a pretty good author, but I'm not God! Do you have any idea how hard it is to even do characters like Korgan and Viconia justice? I could never aptly write even a passage about one of Salvatore's characters!  
  
Irenicus: So you don't exactly have to confidence necessary for such an undertaking?  
  
Dislexic: No, and rightly no. Robert Salvatore is a best-selling author. People have fallen in love with his characters because of how well he has worked them up. They have gotten to the point where no author, himself excluded, could give those characters the justice they are due. I'd rather not risk it just yet. However, I can say that Drizzt will make an appearance at some point.  
  
Irenicus: But is that not what you are trying to do with your own Character?  
  
Dislexic: It is indeed what I am attempting. Though it is not an easy thing. You see, Kincaid is very unusual, thus being a problem in itself because it would be more difficult for people to identify with someone so strange.  
  
Irenicus: Perhaps not so hard. Kincaid comes from the Forgotten Realms, and everyone who reads these fanfics is familiar with such a setting.  
  
Dislexic: That too is my hope.  
  
Irenicus: My next question is also on the minds of your readers. Why the long wait?  
  
Dislexic: Well, you see there are various factors that must be understood. Such as working overtime, working out, and sleeping much. I get less time to write this story then I used to. I hope all of you readers understand that I am not quitting my authoring here, just slowing down somewhat. Take heart.  
  
  
  
Chapter 7  
  
Trail of death  
  
Icewind Dale. Bryn Shander.  
  
The cold, ever-biting wind that had accompanied the pair ever since their departure from the Planer Sphere lessened when they approached the walled city of Bryn Shander. Alturiak was one of the coldest months of the year, and the denizens of this northbound city all dressed as such. The guards looked more like walking suits of armor with clothing spilling out of the places their splint mail did not cover. Yet the newcomers were not so well- insulated. One was well-covered, alright. nothing of her skin or face could be seen behind the darkness of her cloak, only her feminine figure could be seen. Still, the silky texture of the fabric she wore bespoke more of comfort then heat. Every now and then, her eyes glowed under the hood of her cowl, making the guards shift nervously.  
  
Her companion, however, was even more of an oddity, Dressed only in a loosely-fitting robe of no meager enchantment, silken leggings and a waistcoat to match, the tall, dark blue-haired man looked as though he should already be just another windblown obstacle in the road. Yet he was not. he did not even appear to be bothered by the intense cold. One of the two, Bregon by name, could tell well enough that this one had to be either a mage, or insane. Likely though, he thought, it was both.  
  
"Greetings to you, good men. My companion and I wish to gain entry to this fine city of yours. We have business to attend to." Kincaid called out once close enough to be well-heard. His non-chalant manner only made the two men more suspicious.  
  
"Your greeting is accepted, but I am wondering what sort of person travels Icewind Dale in the middle of Alturiak wearing such sleepwear?" Bregon responded as diplomatically as he could. Opposite from him, the other guard clutched his halberd nervously at the pair.  
  
Undaunted, Kincaid stretched and flexed his back as if he were just waking up. A scant hour from dawn, it would be a thing most normal people would not yet be doing. The mage turned a friendly smile on the pair. "Oh, it's really not all that bad. I rather enjoy such refreshing weather, you should too. I imagine all that restrictive armor and those scarfs prevent you from fully enjoying this delicious air."  
  
Bregon gawked momentarily, then turned and gave his companion a look. Kellgorn nodded his agreement. The man's brain had obviously frozen.  
  
The guard approached the newcomers cautiously, holding his weapon ready and his muscles tense as he examined the two. Both patiently stood like statues. First, Bregon examined the human male closely, as if fearing he were a shapeshifter waiting for the right moment to devour him. Satisfied that he was not, the guard turned his attention to the man's companion, who politely obliged him by flicking back her hood with a slender, gloved hand. Bregon gasped in both astonishment and awe, taking several steps back until he was once again at his post.  
  
"Wha-what business do you have in Bryn Shander?" The guard stammered when he found his voice again.  
  
"Our business is with Mertallo, if you don't mind." Kincaid returned briskly.  
  
The two guards exchanged nervous glances/  
  
"That crazy mage..." Bregon's younger companion muttered under his breath. The older guard shot a warning look his way, but Kincaid only smiled.  
  
"You've met him?" He asked.  
  
"No, not I." The guard replied. "But we all know of him. A traveling mage... he... brought his tower with him."  
  
Kincaid chuckled. "Yes, that would be him. Now, good sirs, if you would be so kind..."  
  
Both men nodded hastily and gave the signal for the massive gates to be opened. The two nodded their thanks at the guards and, before long, were out of their sight, traveling down the well-used inner roads of the city.  
  
The younger guard whistled. "Was that not a sight to see?"  
  
Bregon nodded and slumped against the city wall, staring at the sky. "In all my years, lad, never have I seen a moon elf more beautiful."  
  
******************  
  
Kincaid pleasantly slipped an arm around the waist of his lover, who responded in kind, and leaned against him as they walked. They drew many stares, both of them, and for many reasons. Occasionally, the wind would pick up about Viconia's cowl enough to reveal her beautiful visage. More then one young pair of male eyes found themselves unable to look away after such a sight. This she found more uncomfortable then she would like to admit. Walking in the open as such could not be further from what she was used to doing. Still, the elf took much comfort in having her consort in arm.  
  
Kincaid gave her waist a little squeeze and whispered in her ear. "On the bright side, these are looks of astonishment, awe and more then a little jealousy. Not of hate."  
  
The dark maiden sniffed. "If the world were fair, it would always be as such. No illusion on your part would be needed for that."  
  
He smiled wryly, then noted. "If the world were fair, my ssinssrig, everyone would be as beautiful as you, and you would not be seen as such a rarity."  
  
Viconia lifted her head from his shoulder and blinked. "Words of a poet... and unusual for you to see the bright side of things. Perhaps I am not the only one who has changed."  
  
The mage paused and raised an eyebrow. "We have the rest of our lives to spend together, I think it's about time I took an optimistic approach." He looked around at the assembled crowd of passerbys who had stopped to gape. Gently, he lifted the hood away from the face of his lover and bent to kiss her full on the lips as if they were all alone. As if sixty-odd 'normal' people weren't standing by with their eyes as wide open as their mouths.  
  
Viconia moaned and shifted comfortably, smiling as the kiss ended and the two resumed their trek. This time, the jealous looks people gave were more fixed on Kincaid, rather then his gorgeous companion.  
  
"So tell me about this Mertallo, friend of yours." The elf asked only loud enough for her man to hear. "I remember you mentioning him on the way here."  
  
"A traveling mage... a bit on the eccentric side. I met him while I was still training as a Sword Saint in Candlekeep. In fact, I've met many people there who may be able to help us these days." The mage looked around, then pointed to a tall structure not far away. It was not something easily missed. It's architecture, coloring, everything about it was completely out of place in the squalid northern city. "That would be his Tower. It's enspelled so that he can shrink it and carry it with him. Rather convenient, that. Anyway, he once bespoke of his wish to study the frozen north and the strange creatures that live here."  
  
"You mean these peasants." Viconia said dryly, and none too quietly.  
  
Kincaid smirked. "Funny. But he is oddly social, for a mage, and would not make even a temporary home outside of some sort of relative civilization."  
  
As the two entered the small lot of land the odd tower stood upon, they were greeted by a guardian golem. The silent giant bowed once to Kincaid and led the way into the tower. The mage obliged and followed with Viconia somewhat wary by his side.  
  
The inside of the tower was larger then the outside would imply. Scattered throughout the room where a number of vials and flasks, some opened, some not, books stacked as high as a man, sheets of paper covering nearly every bare surface and a caravan-load of miscellaneous spell components. The walls were painted in random, swirling patterns of colors that shifted depending on what angle you viewed them by. These patterns where broken here and there by the occasional artwork, either painted on to or hanging on the wall. On the ceiling flew many firefly-like balls of magical light that served as the light-source for the room.  
  
To Viconia, who could innately sense magical energies as well as any mage, the tower was a stark contrast to what she had just walked through. She was careful to only walk where Kincaid walked and did so warily. To her sight, as it was with Kincaid, everything bore an aura of blue-ish energy. The tables, couches, paintings, walls, even the floor shared that telltale glow that bespoke of some magical property.  
  
"Who dares walk in the home of Mertallo the Great?" Spoke a great booming voice that seemed to come from all sides.  
  
Viconia frowned and crossed his arms. "Your friend thinks highly of himself." She whispered.  
  
Kincaid grinned and spread his arms. "It is I! Jered Kincaid the Greater! I do so dare walk into the home of Mertallo the not-worth- mentioning." This brought a frustrated grumble and a man who's age Viconia could not guess from a doorway on the far side. Mertallo was not much shorter then Kincaid's six-and-a-half feet, though he was noticeably thinner, his skin hung somewhat loosely in comparison and his once-dark hair was well on it's way to becoming as white as his pale skin. Only his eyes, crystalline blue like Kincaid's, remained unchanged by time or the stress of working magic. Despite his somewhat aged appearance, Mertallo carried himself well, standing straight and walking with the measured, balanced steps of an adventurer who had seen more then his share of battles. His hands he kept behind his back where, Viconia guessed, several wands would be in easy reach. Overall, Mertallo's imposing, formidable image was far from that of the craggily, old, hunchback mage Viconia had thought he was, as was the case with most human mages. "It has been some time, old friend." Kincaid continued. "Do you forget the students from your younger days? Or is age catching up to your head, rather then your heels?"  
  
Mertallo favored him with a derisive sniff and threw his arms in the air. "No respect. Nothing's changed, save your choice of company." The man peered at the dark elf momentarily, then looked to Kincaid as if awaiting an explanation. He received none. "Hmph. So, I take it you are concerned with the sudden Bhaal-related deaths and such?"  
  
Kincaid nodded, not at all surprised, though Viconia took a step forward. "How did you know?"  
  
Mertallo waved a hand. "People show up dead in little Bhaal-ish designs, Spheres pop up in the mountains and before long you see Yeti skin being made into fashionable hand-ware. It doesn't take a genius to make the connection, your man was obviously involved."  
  
Kincaid made a small bow at the waist. "Too kind."  
  
The older mage favored him with a cynical smile. "Yes, I am, aren't I? So, will you be bringing mayhem and thunderous destruction to this place as well?"  
  
The younger mage sighed and turned his gaze skyward, letting the gesture be his reply. Mertallo had meant well, despite his attitude, but Kincaid found himself wondering how many times more would he have to hear such words. To any person, the presence of Jered Kincaid seemed synonymous with death and destruction. Sadly enough, they did so rightly, Kincaid thought.  
  
Mertallo would not suffer the silence long, and huffed, "Well, don't simply stand there, take a seat. Let's get started." Looking around, Viconia saw every suitable surface already occupied with various papers, spell components, bodily organs (Some still working, despite having no body), flasks, bottles, boxes, rune stones and many other devices that could not be adequately described. Looking back to Mertallo, she found him indeed sitting, on nothing. Kincaid did likewise, that smiled propped his feet upon a footrest that was not there while reclining comfortably.  
  
"Show off" Mertallo huffed.  
  
***************  
  
Amkathran. Eastern Cliffside.  
  
"Fourteen..." Valygar whispered for the sixth time under his breath as though he could not believe it. Fourteen people out of Amkathran's already dwindling population had been slaughtered in the same manner as those in Athkatla. The news had reached them even before they had entered what was left of the city in the form of several fleeing citizens. Now the two, Valygar and Imoen, both stood and watched the sunset from the cliff on the east side. Predictably enough, the city below was intensely silent. Only a few brave peasants dared walk about, and even then they did so quickly.  
  
Imoen sighed and leaned against him, resting her head on one broad shoulder. "We have to end it. All this death.... it's just too much."  
  
Valygar put an arm around her shoulder comfortingly, giving her a measure of reassurance he did not feel. "They cannot hide forever. Things like this, murder to this degree... they will be found soon." He said.  
  
"How soon?" Imoen breathed. "And how many more will fall before they are?"  
  
"That I cannot answer. The only thing I can say is that I will fight by your side against any foe, for the good of Fearun."  
  
A catlike smile curved Imoen's lips. "Wow.... Valygar the Paladin."  
  
The ranger gave her a severe look. "What?"  
  
The mage smiled up into his dark, serious visage. "Well listen to you. For the good of Fearun.... words I'd expect to hear from Minsc or Keldorn."  
  
Valygar rolled his eyes. "Fine, I'll just shut up then-"  
  
Imoen touched his cheek, halting his words and forcing him to meet her gaze. "You know, you're very cute when you're frustrated."  
  
Valygar choked. "Cute?"  
  
Imoen chuckled and pulled the tall man down for a kiss as the last of the sun's rays warmed them. The stoic ranger almost protested before his presence of mind rightly took over and he drew the young mage into a warm hug as their lips met. He wondered, briefly if she used magic to keep her hair smelling like sweet cinnamon and her body fresh and clean. If she was, then it served as another attack on the ranger's wilting hatred for the art. An attack he wholeheartedly welcomed.  
  
A piercing scream in the night broke the silence and their kiss as harshly as a fireball would break the darkness of an underdark cavern.  
  
The pair looked down to see a shadowy figure standing over a dead body. Blood dripped from it's arm in a circular pattern around that body, completing the Symbol of Bhaal. Neither Imoen nor Valygar stopped to ask questions, but both darted for the way down like two lions in chase of prey. Not bothering to use the ladders, they jumped from the cliff to the rooftop of the uppermost building, then to the rooftop of the next with barely a pause. Covering the distance to the last rooftop within a heartbeat, the pair jumped from there to the ground, landing heavily but unharmed.  
  
Coming up, Imoen searched as best she could, but could see no one. The dead body of the sacrificed peasant lay not far away, still warm.  
  
"No." Imoen hissed in protest. "Whoever it was, he will not get away."  
  
Valygar's eyes closed as he summoned up his innate powers of tracking. He, like Imoen, had no mind to leave the murderer free to kill more people. Not, at least, without answers. Opening his eyes he saw things in a fresh, new light. Recent footfalls, scents in the air and other signs of their quarry stood out clearly in the twilight. The ranger then turned his attention to the west, to the desert and were the signs seemed fresher.  
  
"He's fast and elusive." Valygar said somberly. "But we haven't lost him yet."  
  
A cheery smile found a hold on the young woman's face and she immediately went about casting a spell that would speed the both of them. With a flamboyant flourish, she waved her hands and the both of them ran much faster then any human should be able to. Several times they stopped and Valygar would glance around, taking note of the shifts in the sand and the scents in the wind before sprinting off again. Their quarry was not only fleet of foot, but clever as well. Doubling back and circling around at some points he was able to confuse the pair without being seen.  
  
At length, however Valygar caught up to him, Imoen in tow. As the ranger closed the distance between them, the assassin drew a well-crafted longsword and entered a defensive stance. Valygar responded in kind, baring his own Katanas. Malakar and the Corthalla Family blade gleamed in the dimming twilight of the desert sky. Darkness was quickly taking it's place and Valygar doubted he could track and pursue this quarry in the night should he again take flight. Best to end it quickly.  
  
As the assassin and Ranger squared off, Imoen raised her bow (The Taugin short bow) and readied and arrow, calling out. "Who are you?"  
  
The assassin made no reply. the mage decided to prompt him to answer and let loose an arrow. Though the projectile was magically enchanted to better hit it's mark, Imoen was surprised that it never did. The assassin snapped like a whip as the arrow sped near and narrowly avoided it.  
  
The acrobatic feat nearly cost him his life. Valygar was a master swordsman, some would say that he could fight blow for blow against Drizzt (Though for the two goodly rangers to ever fight in earnest would be highly unlikely, leaving the people's speculations to just that) and easily took advantage of any opportunity to land a blow. Stepping forward and pivoting his weight on to his left foot he lunged with both swords, cutting a diagonal angle through the air.  
  
Showing a great amount of agility, and more then a little luck, the assassin dove backwards the moment he saw Valygar's forward movement, even unbalanced as he was. He did not pause, however, and came up fast, quickly going offensive with a series of well-angled lunges and slashes meant to drive an opponent back, if not kill him immediately. His surprise only doubled, however, as the Ranger remained stationary and parried every last strike. His left-handed weapon, Malakar, moved almost of it's own accord to turn aside the assassin's blade. Valygar then stepped in with his other Katana going high in a horizontal slice. The assassin was forced to duck the blow, forced to parry Malakar's subsequent thrust and forced to accept the clean gash Valygar's Corthalla family blade scored across his upper thigh as he retreated.  
  
The assassin paused to examine the wound. Not a deep cut, but one that bled profusely nonetheless. The man quickly took stock of his situation. The man he faced was easily his superior in combat. He was smart enough to recognize exceptional skill when he saw it. The girl was adept with the use of a bow and, as he then noticed the wands tucked into her belt his hope sank as he realized that she was a mage as well. A mage who had simply chosen not to cast her spells... yet.  
  
Valygar advanced on his bleeding target and Imoen notched another arrow. The assassin was quicker. Driving his sword blade-first into the sand he unsheathed another, this one a short blade made of obsidian. Reversing the motion as soon as he had the sword drawn, the man plunged the blade into his own heart. Valygar stood by in shock, but Imoen rushed to the dying man's side.  
  
"Who are you? Why are you doing this?" The young mage demanded.  
  
The assassin only fell heavily on his back, spitting out one word as he did. "....Murder..."  
  
*********************  
  
Amkathra. The inn.  
  
The ranger and mage had the small inn all to themselves, though they did not greatly exploit that fact. The innkeeper had been among those frightened citizens to flee from the doomed city. On his way out, he had carelessly forgotten to bring along his near-bottomless supply of Elverquisst, Evermead, Zzar, Firewine and several other drinks of varying potency. Imoen and Valygar helped themselves, mixing this with that and experimenting as they tried to make sense of what they had just witnessed. Valygar nursed his drink slowly, however. Partly because he wanted to keep his senses about him and partly because he still could not fully remember what happened the last time he got drunk.  
  
"And what about this one?" Valygar asked as he held the finely-crafted assassin's long sword in his hands. The blade was one of the most exquisite swords he had seen, as far as modern blades go. It was perfectly balanced and well-adorned. If not for it's keen edge the ranger would have guessed it had been made for display purposes.  
  
"It's an Amcathran blade." The young mage supplied. "Crafted in Waterdeep, Amcathran blades are among the best, if the best of all human- made swords. Some say they are on par with elven blades. This one is lightly enchanted, though nothing big. Just a few minor protections and such. A dweamor to increase one's combat odds as well."  
  
"Then why do you look so worried?" The ranger inquired.  
  
Imoen looked from the blade to her companion thoughtfully. "Because that likely means that these are mass-produced. If the sword were more powerful, I would think it unique."  
  
Valygar nodded and drummed the table with his fingers. Defeating the assassin had been an easy feat, but the ranger did not think that others would fare so well. Not against a possible army of elusive assassins wielding enchanted weapons. Valygar and Imoen could likely handle themselves well against them, but the world was filled with people who are not Valygar and Imoen. "Tell me more about the Amcathran clan." The ranger murmured. "I know they are a family of nobles home to Waterdeep, though my own family was not acquainted with them."  
  
Imoen shrugged. "There's not much more to them then that, that I know of, at least. They are a noble family of merchants that trade in exotic perfumes, spices, fabrics as well as their own trademark swords. They are close in business relations to the Thann and Callysandar families, I recall."  
  
Valygar frowned as he examined the long sword again. "A family of merchants..." He echoed softly. "Imoen, do they not have a powerful wizard in their services?"  
  
"No..." The young woman replied. "Though noble families routinely hire mages for whatever services they require."  
  
"Still, to hire a mage would be very expensive. They would not make much of a profit from selling enchanted weapons by the armful if they had to turn around and give coin to the enchanter." Valygar pressed.  
  
Imoen drained her decanter and sighed. "Of course they don't sell the blades enchanted. There is no war going on, and scarce few adventurers are rich enough to buy magical blades, many have suitable weapons already. They sell their swords as that are so-"  
  
"The assassins perform the enchantment themselves." Valygar finished.  
  
Imoen nodded and leaned back in her chair. "So they have the use of magic with them too."  
  
Valygar was far from happy with that revelation.  
  
Suddenly, Imoen looked up. "We go to Waterdeep with haste come morning. We need to contact the Amcathran clan and find out if our theory is sound. If it is, then they would have the names of whoever has been buying these here swords by the bundle." Then, Imoen gave the ranger a rather tipsy smile. "See? I'm suppose to be the smart one."  
  
"You are." Valygar pointed out. "It's you're idea, I just had to say if, plan it and direct you to it for you. After all of these simple tasks, I let you do the hard part."  
  
Imoen laughed and kicked him playfully under the table. "That had better the Firewine talking."  
  
Valygar laughed. "It is." He waved a hand at the mage's empty decanter. "You're the one drinking it, though."  
  
---------------------------------  
  
That sudden thud on the floor you may hear would be my unconscious body. You know how it is... I hope. How many of you put in more then 40 hours a week at a job were the stress level would make an air traffic controller's duties seem like playing golf. Not to say that I play golf myself, I think it's such an old retired man's sport. I'm not that old and decrepit, yet. Soon, though. In any case, I've been so very busy lately. It doesn't matter if I have a day off, I know they'll call me in (there's only two other people on my shift, and both are pregnant. The pregnancy is not my fault). You can imagine how much time I get between work, sleep, and my lazy (though shapely) ass not wanting to sit here and think up another chapter to my slowly progressing story.  
  
Enough about me, though. More about you! How are you? Have you hugged your pixels today? How many of you have played and beaten Balduar's Gate 2 more then three times with five different character's? I have. Sad, huh? It gets worse. One day I was mining my own business and a friend told me something about looking for items in the override folder... then there I was... poking around here and there when I started doing stuff... Hey, it just happened. I opened up the override folder and started looking through the files in WordPad. Within hours I was re-writing the ex tables, writing down what little tags like AP_SPCL441 stand for and altering everything that ended with .2DA  
  
Does everybody do this or is it just me?  
  
Irenicus: Whoa, let me get this straight. You went into the game with WordPad... and changed it?  
  
Dislexic: Yeah... doesn't everybody?  
  
Irenicus: .......  
  
So, in any case, I think I'll keep the max level at 45 for now, I'll soon be remaking my player character to be level 40kensai/45 mage (oh yeah!) Mages now have the ability to use Lay On Hands, memorize 12 spells per level at level 45, the Inquisitor's dispel magic and true sight and... well, the list goes on. Don't get me wrong, though. I'm not really cheating (Enemies are effected too) I'm simply making it a little more fair and rewarding for gaining that huge amount of xp required. Like giving mages magic resistance. I mean, c'mon! they work with the stuff as a job for shit! A monk gets resistance, but a mage? Hell no! Well, that's different now!  
  
Irenicus: But... how did you do that, seeing as mages don't have a 2DA file?  
  
Dislexic: Oh... I made one.  
  
Irenicus: You... made one?  
  
Dislexic:... uh-huh.  
  
Irenicus:................................................................ Exactly how much tea have you been drinking?!?!? 


	8. Purple stuff and seeking shadows

Disclaimer: Natural color variations may occur with this product.  
  
Dislexic: You know, I've noticed something.  
  
Irenicus: That being?  
  
Dislexic: Consider the three romantic interest choices for the male player character (Female as well, if you know how to hack the script). Aerie- lawful good, Jaheira- True Neutral, and Viconia- Neutral Evil (though subject to change).  
  
Irenicus: Yes, one of each alignment. So?  
  
Dislexic: There's something else. Aerie I'm sure is a virgin, Jaheira has one had sex with her husband and Viconia has slept with mostly every male south of Balduars Gate. Do you think it might have something to do with their alignment.  
  
Irenicus: So you're saying that all good people are virgins and everyone who sleeps around is evil?  
  
Dislexic: I love it when you twist my words around like that.  
  
Irenicus: Oh, I can do so much worse. Anyway, have you tried her? Aerie?  
  
Dislexic: Hell no! I could hardly suffer though the first few dialogs. I'm sorry, but I am attracted to strong women and Aerie is so high maintenance she should come with a warranty.  
  
Irenicus: Oh, and Vhailor had another comment about the hit points. Correct math, says he/she/both/it/?.  
  
Dislexic: I've read it.... how many familiars do you suppose he has?  
  
Irenicus: One, I'd wager.  
  
Dislexic chuckles and shrugs: Well sure. If you look at it THAT way....  
  
Current changes to the mage class.  
  
Mages may now specialize to the point of grand mastery with any weapon (seeing as the proficiency bonuses aren't so astronomically awesome anyway.). However, they still gain the fewest number of proficiency slots out of all the classes. Also, until level 45, they can still only use the quarterstaff, dagger, sling and dart.  
  
Mages now gain more spells per level at a higher rate, comparable to the cleric's spell charts. By level 45, a mage can memorize 12 spells per level.  
  
Level 15: A mage's skills in elemental magic allow him to cast storm shield once per day (gains another use at level 44)  
  
17: The mage's abilities in manipulating magical energies grant him insight into the workings of magic. Once per day the mage may use 'Dispel Magic' at 1 casting speed and double effectiveness (gains another use at levels 28, 37 and 44).  
  
20: Can cast 'True Sight' at 1 spell casting speed once per day (gains another use at levels 38 and 44)  
  
25: Gains 8% magic resistance. Continues to gain an additional 3% per level up to a maximum of 68% at level 45  
  
26: Knowledge of spell-casting and spell-disruption enable the mage to add a cumulative 10% chance of spell failure to each melee attack.  
  
27: Magical energies intensify in the mage's bloodstream and he becomes immune to disease.  
  
29: Gains immunity to Poison.  
  
30: Magical energies can be used to heal as well. Metabolic knowledge enables the wizard to use 'Lay on Hands' once per day (heals 40 hp. Gains another use at levels 36 and 44)  
  
31: the wizard is considered a magical creature and continues to gain supernatural abilities. Gains 10% elemental resistance. gains another 10% at level 41.  
  
32: gains 10% resistance to all physical damage.  
  
33: May use 'Hardiness' once per day. Gains another use at level 43.  
  
34: Bonus -2 to AC  
  
35: May use 'Prot. from evil 10' radius' once per day. Gains another use at level 42.  
  
39: May use 'Evasion' once per day. Gains another use at level 42.  
  
40: Bonus -1 to AC  
  
42: Wizard is now considered a celestial creature, even if he or she remains a mortal. The mage gains higher supernatural abilities.  
  
43: +3 to hit and damage with all weapons. May use 'Scribe Scrolls' once per day. May use 'Greater Evasion' once per day.  
  
44: +3 to hit and damage with all weapons. Bonus -1 to AC. May use 'Stunning Blow' once per day. May use 'Critical Strike' once per day.  
  
45: Mage's Lore reaches peak value. May use any Item. The mage also gains divine favor from Mystra, Goddess of Magic, regardless of current deity worshipped, and may use 'Summon Deva' once per day as an ability.  
  
(*phew*)  
  
I hope you have more fun reading that then I did writing it. Maybe later I'll do something about all the AP_SPCL GA_SPPR .2DA ect. ect. I'm not finished compiling the list, however, so you will have to wait.  
  
To some of you, this may seem a little extreme, but it's really not, considering the incredible amounts of xp needed to reach these high levels. After reaching level 40, the xp requirements accelerate far beyond the normal 250000 that was needed between levels 20-40. In fact, to reach level 45, 69000000 xp is needed :)  
  
no joke, these are fair rewards and also subject to change. Once I get my editor working, I'm going to start making my own spells. Just wait, soon you shall see powerful magics such as  
  
Power word Shuttup (silences target with no save)  
  
Power word Fuckyou! (creates a rod 12 inches by 3 inches behind the target which.... uh... inflicts 1d10+10 points of blunt/piercing/both damage per round for 5 turns. Target also drops weapon and becomes paralyzed. Is entitled to a saving throw vs. screw to avoid damage and run away in terror.)  
  
Dislexic's special tea (removes effects of fatigue, increases intelligence of all party members by +2, but lowers constitution by -1 for 6 hours)  
  
Drive by of Doom (a Lincoln town car slowly drives by the target, then gunshots are heard. The car then pulls away...)  
  
Darryl's Pimping Habits (charms an enemy female into changing sides... and taking off her armor. Target is allowed a saving throw vs. screw at -12 penalty with a caster's charisma modifier.)  
  
Orgasm Powder (Genai Lunare's special! Now you can cast it in the privacy of your own home, or during a battle!! An odd, yellowish powder surrounds the target and immediately has a powerful, chemical effect on it. Target is healed 1d12+5 points per round of spell, spell lasts as long as the target can last! Once finished, the target either becomes stunned or unconscious.)  
  
Bigby's Middle Finger (A giant, disembodied hand flips the bird at the opponents.)  
  
And Many Many More!!  
  
One more note. Upon making these changes, I was able to level up Kincaid to 40 mage. This is rather understandable, considering that final, climactic battle with Amellyssan. I mean, that's a rather life-altering experience.  
  
------------------------------  
  
14th day of Alturiak 1370DR  
  
I have often wondered if I was traveling a road that had no turns, no exits. Is this road I travel restricted to a single destination? Would it narrow at a point, so that those walking abreast with me would be left behind? I admit, I had worried about this more before the incident with Amylessan, but I find that it is returning to my mind again. With that comes other worries, some weigh more heavily on me then others.  
  
My companions with whom I have traveled, I remember taking their presence with me for granted. I always thought that they would be there to help or hinder me, it would not matter either way. What mattered was that they were with me as friends. My journeys did not seems so terrible, thanks largely to them. I would hate to think of how it would have been had I traveled alone. I doubt they would have allowed me to refuse their company, regardless, and although I did fear for their safety, I would not deny them the freedom to make their own choice. How could I? To take one's life into one's hands was the very choice I made myself, that day I left Candlekeep.  
  
I left seeking blood. Imoen followed. Jaheira and Khalid soon thereafter, then others. This day, looking back, I can see where I might have brought murder to those who did no deserve it. Back then I took solace in knowing that it was their choice to follow me. Now I do not know how to feel. People have fallen because of my direct involvement, many authorities are yet seeking my head, holding me responsible for acts I do not believe I should be held accountable for.  
  
They can't all be wrong, can they? Did I handle my situations poorly? Were there other choices I did not see? Better choices? Worse yet, if my story is not yet complete, is there more havoc to be wrought because of me? I did not feel guilty before. Remorseful, regretful, but not guilty. Now I do not know. In any case, I shall save those musings for another time.  
  
Jered Kincaid  
  
******************  
  
Chapter 8  
  
Purple stuff and Seeking shadows  
  
Mertallo's Tower. Bryn Shandar.  
  
The two powerful wizards floated, rather then sat, across from each other in a very spacious, very disorganized library of a room. Everywhere tomes lay scattered here and there, taking up every bit of shelf, chair, desk and more then a bit of floor space. The room, which Mertallo jokingly referred to as his 'study' was well illuminated with the same magical ceiling lights that were in the antechamber on the first floor.  
  
"Here... here... and... ah, here." Mertallo mumbled as he pointed to various spots of the map. Decanters filled with purplish liquid floated nearby.  
  
"But not 'there' or 'this spot here'?" Kincaid mused.  
  
The older mage shot him a look. "I'm being serious about this. Look you, I've marked all the locations thus far."  
  
Kincaid shrugged and leaned over the map. "Hmm... should I be counting the coffee stains?"  
  
"No change." The mage grumbled to himself then took a long pull on a decanter floating by. Finished, he let go of it and it continued to float. "No respect."  
  
"It's one of his more endearing qualities." Said the melodious voice of Viconia as the drow cleric appeared in the doorway. Both mages turned to regard to elf slowly. The drow held her head as regally as any queen while the two males inspected her. A silken robe, fluffy in some places, covered in exotic, golden designs. Her silky white hair spilled down around her shapely shoulders, still glistening with moisture from her recent bath. Droplets of water still clung to her ebony skin in some places, and an evil, catlike smile curved her lips as her eyes met Kincaid's. The hapless human stared at her in a trance-like state, his grip on the decanter he held tightened five-fold.  
  
Mertallo looked quickly from one to the other, then waved his hands at Kincaid in an over-emphasized display of drama. "No! Kincaid, look away! Look away while you still can!"  
  
"I... can't... help... it." Kincaid said with a dazed voice. "She's... so... beautiful..."  
  
Viconia was the first to break the spell with a delightful burst of laughter. The two men soon joined in, though Kincaid did not take his eyes off of his alluring lady. The nimble elf hopped from one rare spot of bare flooring to the next until she was behind her floating man. Presently wrapping her arms around his neck (which did not help him concentrate at all) she peered over his should at the map. It showed the city of Bryn Shandar, marked along the outer and suburban areas with chalk and what looked like coffee stains. Then her nose crinkled as she caught the scent of what the two mages were drinking and looked up.  
  
"Hmm? Potions of Genius?" Viconia asked.  
  
Mertallo looked up lazily. "What?"  
  
"She means the drinks." Kincaid explained, then turned to his lover. "Yes actually. But it turns out that up here in this region, they just call it what it is. Liquid codeine or-"  
  
Mertallo raised his decanter and the two mages simultaneously said, "Purple Stuff!"  
  
With that, the two mages chugged back the remains of their respective drinks and left their empty containers floating in the air, to be refilled by floating jugs.  
  
"Alright, back to the subject here. Let's not be sidetracked..." Mertallo mumbled as potion kicked in. "I've already considered all mathematical explanations for these Bhaal-related murders and no such current venture seems logical. However, I do find it interesting that they seem to occur at 12 hour intervals." Mertallo pointed from one mark on the map, to another as he continued. "Day one, noon, here. That was about a tenday ago. Midnight here. Day two, noon, here and next here and here and.."  
  
"Stop!" Kincaid suddenly burst out, leaning over the spread map with sudden interest. "Look.... they are the same. See!"  
  
The two mages looked from the map, to each other in a look of sudden revelation.  
  
Viconia, who had not consumed any 'purple stuff' furrowed her brow in confusion as the blue-haired mage raised his fist into the air. "Yes! See! Within three hundred twenty-five minutes-"  
  
"I suppose you'll do the usual?" Mertallo broke in.  
  
Kincaid blinked. "Have you known me to do any other?"  
  
The drow tentively plucked her lover's decanter out of the air before he reached for it and sniffed it's contents suspiciously.  
  
"Imoen, I'm sure, already knows. Though we must get the components ready- " Kincaid continued to say.  
  
"Impossible! Not until I have more eggs!" The older mage shot back.  
  
Kincaid clenched his fist into the air. "But you know full well that the Ice trolls are too much, don't be foolish."  
  
Mertallo huffed. "His mother did not raise him well."  
  
With that, the two mages suddenly calmed and simultaneously nodded. "On that, we both agree." Kincaid said, rubbing his hands against his temples.  
  
Meanwhile, Viconia stood by gaping. At length, she released the decanter into the air and slapped a hand down on her lover's shoulder. Kincaid jumped, which looked odd, floating as he was, and looked up at the drow in bewilderment, which only served to confuse the elf more.  
  
"If those potions are suppose to make you smarter," Viconia began to say, slowly. "Why do you seem to not already know what a want?"  
  
Kincaid blinked. "What? To know a woman's wants and whims? There's no potion strong enough in all Fearun!"  
  
Mertallo smirked into his decanter, which was now refilled and in his hands but Viconia, less amused, took her hand from her lover's shoulder and brought it up to slap him. With surprising speed, the blue-haired mage captured her wrist and pulled her into his lap, holding her arms in check.  
  
"Well..." He said pleasantly. "I saw that one coming. Come now, my dark, fiery maiden-"  
  
"Right now?" The suddenly docile drow purred.  
  
Kincaid looked to Mertallo, as if to give him a warning look to stave off any comments the witty mage might have, but he was presently taking this opportunity to examine the ceiling. Favoring Viconia with a sardonic look, the blue-haired mage said. "You know full well what I meant."  
  
The dark elf raised a snowy eyebrow, but said nothing as her lover began pointing out locations on the map. "In about five hours, we are going to do some hunting, you and I. You see, Mertallo and I were saying, the murders all happen at 12 hour intervals, for whatever reason. Now, I noticed that the bodies were all discovered at locations around Bryn Shandar. Rather then being just random spots, they fit a pattern, and if you look at the city from this point of view, with the locations marked like this it looks like-"  
  
"The Symbol of Bhaal." Viconia whispered.  
  
Mertallo nodded and Kincaid continued. "The symbol is not complete, more blood must be spilled, and therefore we can count on another murder to happen in about five hours, so long as our killer, or killers, continue to hold to their strict schedule."  
  
The older mage pointed to the southeastern section of Bryn Shandar on the map. "This will most likely be the next spot. Low-rent district, quite the slum. And easy place."  
  
Viconia nodded in understanding, then asked. "Alright, but what about all that other nonsense you two were babbling about. Like the words to an insane bard mind-blasted by illithids."  
  
Kincaid sighed. "Well, Mertallo has this spell here that, well.... I'm not going to go into explanations. It's just a useful spell-"  
  
"That requires eggs." Mertallo huffed in frustration.  
  
The younger mage nodded and leaned back to examine his own favored spot in the ceiling. "Argrymn, a local merchant was to bring in a fresh supply-"  
  
"And he was beset by Ice Trolls, because the cheapskate didn't hire enough cavern guards." Mertallo broke in, obviously disgusted.  
  
Again Kincaid sighed. "So you see, his mother, a merchant herself, did not raise him well, else he would have known the value of keeping a good regimen of guards near."  
  
Viconia frowned, but then nodded in understanding. "I... see... I suppose."  
  
The human stroked her neckline slowly, his expression sobering and his eyes darkening a little. Leaning close, he whispered. "Once more unto the breach, my dark maiden. We'll find some answers, and blood shall be spilled, sweat shall be shed. Not necessarily in that order."  
  
"Tcheh. Five hours..." The dark elf replied, stretching a slender hand to caress Kincaid's cheek. "How to spend the time?"  
  
Mertallo chose that moment to loudly clear his throat. "First, we'll eat. Now come on, the dining room is actually somewhat organized."  
  
As the older mage led the way, Kincaid gave his dark elven companion a helpless look in answer to her pouting expression. "We are, after all, his guests."  
  
Viconia nodded, but said nothing. The two followed several steps behind Mertallo with an arm around each other's waist.  
  
Leaving the study on the opposite side of where they had entered from, the trio turned down a hallway that sported several doors on either side and expanded for some distance. Some doors were open, revealing very large and very disorganized rooms of various purposes. In one room, Viconia saw many cages lining the walls, housing large, insect-like creatures. Likely the local native cave-dwellers. In another room, a floating sphere of water more then six feet in diameter stood, surrounded by several, smaller spheres of varying degrees in color.  
  
Devoid off all objects but for several obsidian statues of nude females was yet another room, one of the half-a-handful of Mertallo's rooms that bore a sense of cleanliness and organization. One statue held a harp that bore a single birds wing as an adornment, also carved from obsidian, while another held an elven scepter to her lips as if preparing to release a spell. A third was of a female elven warrior, twin rapiers in her hands, on one bent with her head down as though she had fought for many hours and was near collapse. A fourth statue looked like a courtesan, a sexy smile played across her lips with her arms hugging herself coyly.  
  
Nudging her lover, the drow drew his attention to the very life-like figures, saying, "Your friend has quite a collection of artwork."  
  
Kincaid smiled. "An appreciation for fine art and beauty is a trait we both share, actually. Which reminds me, I need to paint you."  
  
Viconia chuckled dismissively, but found herself entertaining the notion nonetheless.  
  
Turning down another hall, this one longer then the first, it occurred to the elf that Mertallo's 'home' was far larger on the inside then it was on the outside. The work of extra-planer magic, no doubt. At length, the three arrived at the kitchen and dining room which was, true to the old mage's word, very neat and well organized. The table was clear, save for a white tablecloth. Four elegant oak chairs surrounded the table, and the four corners of the dining room where occupied by small end-tables, each sporting long dinner candles. The adjoining kitchen was surprisingly clean as well. Though there was no doubt in Viconia's mind that the mage used powerful magics to have the area kept so clean, she was impressed.  
  
Beside her, Kincaid whistled. "Why you dog! No man shines up his eating quarters like this unless he's expecting a lady friend to see it."  
  
Mertallo snorted. "Oh hush. Is it so surprising that I eat my meals in this environment?"  
  
The young mage and his drow lover both shared a speculative glance.  
  
"Where you are concerned, my friend, yes." Kincaid answered. "Such a romantic set... you've been having company. My, you're full of surprises."  
  
"Oh whatever! You know me better then that. I've better things to do with my time."  
  
"Nothing could be better." Kincaid scolded. He slipped an arm around Viconia's waist for emphasis, then sniffed the air. "Oh... and that smell... My my, Mertallo. Fond of seafood?"  
  
"Ghah! No respect." The wizard huffed in exasperation.  
  
****************  
  
Athkatla. North of the Docks District.  
  
Arkanis and Yochiko, two of Athkatla's most feared assassins as well as high-ranking agents of the Shadow Thieves, skittered across the streets of this city they lived in as if they were unwelcome guests. Skittering like fleeting shadows from one corner to the next. First Arkanis, then, like an echo or afterthought, Yochiko would follow within a heartbeat. The two passed by guards and soldiers who took no notice, the most alert of which could only detect a subtle break in the wind and nothing more. Blending into the shadows as they were, light itself seemed to refused touching them.  
  
Though the names of these two were sometimes whispered in the streets, it was not often that they would allow themselves to be seen by any but a victim of their handiwork. Yet tonight, the two thieves took more then the necessary precautions for avoiding detection. The unexplained murders which had effected, up to this point, the peasants and occasional merchant on the streets have begun to affect people of all statures in society, indiscriminately. A noble of the house Brega, the very brother of Athkatla's chief inspector, was found dead along with the body of a lowly member of the Twisted Rune the day before. Since then, five Shadow Thieves, all of no mean skill, have also been discovered lying in a circle of tear-shaped blood drops.  
  
Arkanis and Yochiko took more then the necessary precautions.  
  
A pair of Amnish legionary marched down the streets, their halberds over their shoulders and a look of grim determination set on their face. The thieves prudently remained unseen as the soldiers passed them by.  
  
"Like lambs off to the slaughter." Arkanis whispered to his companion.  
  
The slant-eyed assassin responded in a hiss. "Tch. Right now, we're no different."  
  
"Not so. We run from the slaughter."  
  
Yochiko nudged him as he cast a nervous glance around. The street was clear, though that did not help his apprehension. "Then we're rabbits instead."  
  
A pair of shadows flitted through the streets like faint memories. No one took notice. The streets remained as dead with silence as those of Netheril stood now. Guards patrolled areas here and there, creating the illusion of peace in a city that had suddenly become struck by a plague of murders.  
  
***************  
  
Bryn Shandar. Mertallo's Tower.  
  
Soft, pleasant music soothed the three magic-using friends as they dinned on an exquisitely elegant meal. The music did not seem to emanate from any specific point, but neither Kincaid, nor Viconia objected or inquired as to it's origin. Rather, they enjoyed it's wonderfully soothing effects for granted and didn't ask questions. The food had a similar effect. Kincaid was pleasantly surprised to find a large, juicy steak served medium rare on a platter of mixed vegetables, all spiced accordingly. Kincaid and his dark lover both accepted the older mages surprisingly splendid hospitality graciously, and for a moment, Mertallo could almost swear the young Bhaalspawn was being respectful.  
  
"Wait, wait. Don't tell me. You went in with weapons bared and killed them all, eh?" Said Mertallo with a glint in his eye.  
  
Kincaid smiled and spread his hands in a helpless gesture. "Oh, how well you know me."  
  
"Knew would be more apt a word." Viconia remarked to her glass, then looked over it to the older mage to explain. "He actually negotiated in this case. Oh, don't look so disappointed, he did it with prejudice."  
  
Mertallo turned a withering gaze to his old friend. "Is this true?"  
  
"It is. I threatened it... the fish-thing whatever it was. I said I would expose it if it exposed me. Obviously, it was interested in staying alive more so then most opponents I've come across." Said Kincaid.  
  
"In a drow city, one would have to be." Viconia observed before finishing her glass of water. Mertallo could understand well the choice of water over wine that his two guests had made. One simply did not become drunk before a potential battle and, contrary to popular belief, elves were not immune to the effects of alcohol. Some have been known to shrug off it's effects in lesser amounts, and no elf was ever witnessed to have passed out from it, but intoxication effected them was easily as it did humans. In many cases, due to an elf's smaller size, more easily.  
  
With that, the cleric rose and excused herself to prepare for the hunt ahead. Kincaid watched her go, his eyes lingered for several moments on the sway of her hips. With a sigh, he turned back to his food to find Mertallo studying him, his chin resting on one palm.  
  
"An interesting choice of companionship. Discreet, smart and incredibly wise. More then a little seductive..." He let the last thought hang suggestively.  
  
"Seductive?" Kincaid echoed. "Hm. True enough. It's no magical spell that she has me under."  
  
Mertallo nodded once but his expression did not change. "Don't misunderstand me. As long as you speak for her, she's welcome in my home, regardless of race. I only am concerned-"  
  
"That she might have me under her control." The mage finished with a smile, lifting a healthy chunk of meat to his lips. "Mmm. Delicious. You know, my old friend, I put it to you again. To produce such wonderfully good food, you must have been making good use of it. The sweet air, the music... is this a regular retreat for the women of Bryn Shandar?"  
  
"You didn't answer me." Mertallo said, unblinking and undeterred.  
  
"You asked no question." Kincaid returned, his voice suddenly hard and his gaze narrow. "You insinuated malice on the part of my companion. Since we are old friends, I'll let that pass." Mertallo nodded and indicated for him to continue, which he did with a sigh. "If you had asked me but a year ago if I trusted her... m answer would have been different. But now there can be no other. There is no intrigue between her and I, my old friend. No games, not any more at least. Just a great deal of history... and many changes. For both of us, yes, there have been changes. I won't go into details, but I will tell you that she is not the woman I once knew. She's... nothing like the drow, not anymore." The mage paused. "If you want to know more, why not ask her?"  
  
The wizard regarded his guest silently for a moment, then raised his glass to him and drank. "I just may. Now, on to our preparations."  
  
****************  
  
Bryn Shandar. The Slums.  
  
Merrok grumbled nervously under his breath. All light, save for that from the stars, had fled from his surroundings several minutes ago and he, and middle-aged man with terrible dark vision, had to make with way at a crawling pace. The streets were customarily quiet. After all, a city that housed mostly criminals would not be known for its great social behavior. Nonetheless, the peasant man was unnerved.  
  
The buildings presented themselves only as great, hulking shadows, smaller objects were equally vague to Merrok's sight. One shadow, interestingly enough, moved from when he saw it last. The peasant gulped nervously and peered at it, unable to make out what it was in his near- sightedness. After a moment's hesitation, the man moved on, this time more warily.  
  
The 'shadow' watched the peasant stumble blindly along his path, a stone shortblade in his hand. With the grace of a cat, the assassin stalked after his prey. This one would be too easy to kill, but it had to be done. The circle of murder had to be complete.  
  
As the assassin neared his intended victim, he could not shake the feeling that he was being watched. Looking around, even his trained sight could reveal nothing. The assassin shrugged and prepared to strike, whispering, "Murder..."  
  
"Comes to those who expect it least." Merrok replied, turning around to face his executioner.  
  
The assassin started in surprise as his quarry shifted and stood strait, all evidence of near-sightedness and clumsiness gone. With a sudden movement, the killer lunged, stone blade leading, intending to plunge the weapon into the peasant's heart before he proved dangerous. To his surprise, the 'peasant sidestepped the attack and countered with a powerful chest hit with a quarterstaff that had not been in his hands a moment before.  
  
The assassin stumbled back, coughing for air and struggling against the unnatural, stinging cold he suddenly felt.  
  
"Blast. What are you?" He spat.  
  
The 'peasant's' illusionary for melted away within moments. In his place stood a tall, well-built man with sharp features, piercing blue eyes and strangely dark blue hair. Jered Kincaid smiled pleasantly and bowed at the waist.  
  
The assassin's eyes widened in recognition for but a moment. "It's you... Survivor." He hissed. Then his eyes narrowed dangerously. He reached into one of the folds of his tunic and drew out what looked like a glass orb about two inches in diameter.  
  
Kincaid took no chances and made a single motion with his hand. Ten small glowing missiles burst forth suddenly and unerringly pelted the assassin, hurling him back several meters. The orb fell from his hand but, unfortunately, it released a spell as it hit the cobblestone and burst. A crimson cloud expanded from it's shattered pieces and rose to envelope the human.  
  
This time it was Kincaid's eyes that widened and he jumped back, but the blood-cloud followed. Quickly, he made another gesture with his hand, this one meant to deaden all magic within the area and was surprised to find nothing happen. The cloud overtook him, even before he could scream out in protest and held him there as surely as if he were frozen in a giant cube of ice. His muscles would not respond to his commands, even worse, his innate magical abilities would not come forth.  
  
The assassin rose and dusted himself off. Oddly enough, he seemed healthier, healed even. Regeneration of some sort, Kincaid though.  
  
"We knew you would take an active hand in this soon. We were not unprepared, Bhaalspawn." He said coldly as he stalked forth, his ritualistic stone blade once again ready.  
  
Kincaid's eyes narrowed, which was about the only thing he could do. Although he could understand how a specialized spell, directed solely at him, would succeed in rendering him immobile, he could not understand how it could also block his magic. In more then one way it did just that. Kincaid was a very intelligent mage, and very thoughtful. Always he had contingency spells in place should he be caught be surprise or some other unforeseen circumstance. One such spell was designed to create a duplicate of him, turn him invisible and render him immune to all magical weapons in the event that he should be rendered helpless. But to his frustration and amazement, the spell would not go off!  
  
The assassin raised his obsidian blade and prepared to strike. "Fitting, it is, that you should fall to this-- AARGH!" He suddenly screamed as something bit deeply into his leg. Looking down and to the left he saw an enormous spider making a meal of his calve. Growling in pain, he stabbed at the creature, only to see it phase and disappear before his blade could reach it.  
  
The real attack, however, came from the right. Distracted as he was, the assassin failed to notice the flail, or the drow who held it, that swung hard into his side.  
  
"Vith'os!" Viconia shouted triumphantly.  
  
The man landed on the ground like a discarded doll. He struggled, but could barely sit up, groaning from the agony the poison and acid wrought, battling his own regeneration and winning. He opened his eyes to find a most frightening image. But then, scant few human males find the sight of a battle-ready drow anything less then fear-inspiring. "You..." He struggled to gasp.  
  
The drow paid him no heed, tracing a hand across her lover's jaw line in concern as she examined the localized cloud that held him. Before her eyes, it began to dissipate and bleed into the air around it. She breathed a sigh of relief, cautiously, and turned a cold, murderous gaze on the assassin. He reached to unsheathe a sword from his scabbard but Kitthix was there to intervene, taking a healthy bite out of his hand.  
  
Again he screamed, again he tried to strike the spider, again it phased out of existence.  
  
The man in dark clothing raised his eyes to meet those of the drow as she raised her deadly weapon for one final blow.  
  
"Kill me." He hissed defiantly. "I'll never tell you anything."  
  
"Wrong." She whispered with unnerving calm. "You will tell us everything."  
  
With that, the Flail of Ages came down hard, with all the enhanced strength of the drow cleric behind it. Briefly, the assassin wondered what hit his head harder, the flail or the ground. He never lived long enough to figure it out.  
  
-----------------------------  
  
On with the morbid, bloody and head-knocking-around. I guess you get this way if you see Blade 2 and play Torment closely together. The images of blood and violence you get from Blade, mixed with having that floating skull follow you around... hell, I don't know. What does influence me? Maybe it's these pills. Or that purple stuff... Purrrrrrpluullllll (Flow as I do- Wave 'em side to side)  
  
Ah. I don't know where that came from, sorry. Let me turn the radio off. But then, that gets me to thinking. All these tea-related jumbles of nonsense that I write up... can any of you really follow along what I'm saying? I mean, I do TRY to put in enough sentences as to convey the thought, but I do realize that not everybody has an intelligence rating of 19 (You get a +1 to intelligence for choosing the Author kit) so I'd imagine several of you are staring at your screens going... Huh?!  
  
I pity you.  
  
Scented candles are an effective form of aromatherapy. I'm burning a black cherry one now. It's soothing. It also helps mask the stench you get when you live in an un-air-conditioned room in South Texas. Not a pleasant experience, mind. Or smell, mind. However, I must bring up a topic right here and right now that I simply cannot hold off for another day. I know I was going to but... well, I simply must say it. It might sound like a rant but either bear with me or scroll down.  
  
Issue: Fresh lemons vs. Rotten Lemons.  
  
I know I haven't written a full-fledged lemon yet, but I feel obligated to say this, nonetheless. I cannot help but feel disappointed with some of what I'm reading. I mean... plausibility, someone. One can only fully enjoy a story, a lemon especially, if one can believe in it. For that, we cannot have dialog (I must gripe about the dialog) that is simply never said in real life, or even fantasy life.  
  
Example, martial arts setting:  
  
Woman: I noticed you used a move against your other opponents, but not me, why?  
  
Man: Because of your breasts.  
  
Woman: Oh.. I see.  
  
How many of you hear this quite often while touring martial arts competitions? If so, how often does it lead to sex? If the answer is "quite often" on both accounts, I'd very much like to know where you live. Now, let's step back into reality for a moment and take a better look on how that dialog might have gone with a bit of subtlety.  
  
Woman: You're holding back. I've seen you use moves on others you haven't tried against me.  
  
Man: Honestly? I.. uh. I just don't want to hurt you.  
  
Woman: Oh? .... that's sweet.  
  
Now, regardless of what the woman says, even if she thinks the guy's sexist, she'll like that fact that he's showing her respect in his own way. I know that this particular dialog may not happen, in all likelihood, but comparing it to the one above, it definitely has more plausibility. Thank you for your time. More on this subject during future chapters. 


	9. The Game's Afoot

Disclaimer: For the last three days I have been re-assessing the value of a pair of house-hold slippers.  
  
Irenicus: A thought, Dislexic; What would it be like with 12 or so familiars hanging around all at once.  
  
Dislexic: Oh, something like this:  
  
Kincaid scoops several portions of a dog-food like substances into a dozen bowls on a table and calls out, "Dinner's ready! Line up!"  
  
A flock of familairs come in from all directions (7 psudo dragons, 3 fairy dragons and one cranky dust mephit) and line up to take attendence, Kincaid checks off thier names as he calls out.  
  
"Spock! Spork! Sprik! Spunk! Spaik! Splok! Speek! Spoik! Spank! Spirk! Splek! Spic! .... Spic?..... We're missing someone.... Hey! Spic?"  
  
Irenicus: I'd imagine, though you can't name your familiar Spic.  
  
Dislexic: What do you mean?  
  
Irenicus: It's not what you Author's call... PC.  
  
Dislexic: You know what they used to be named?  
  
Irenicus: Somehow I don't think I want to know....  
  
Kincaid takes attendance, checking off names as he goes.  
  
"Okay, line up! Cracker! Coon! Dyke! Ghost! Patty! Fag! Bitch! Chinky! Gimp! Wetback! Canadian! Nigga!.... Nigga? Hey, we're missing someone. Hey Nigga?"  
  
Dislexic: It's fun to be politically incorrect, so long as you do it equally to everyone.  
  
Irenicus: Riiiiiiiiiight.  
  
Dislexic: Besides, starting at level 5, Authors can be un-PC once per day per 5 levels... we're allowed that.  
  
Dislexic: Oh, and a little note to my newest reviewer, PannyChanny16;*Goes into dramatised mode* I don't really know who or what Vhalior is. He/she/both/niether/nueter/it/? just showed up one day and dared to question the plausability behind Kincaid's 486 current natural hitpoints. Isn't that incredible? That someone would have the audacity to even begin to ponder an error on my part!  
  
Irenicus: To add insult to injury, Vhalior also questioned how a nuetral/good character could possess Blackrazor.  
  
Dislexic: Aye! He....*gasp*... questioned!! Have you ever in your entire life...?  
  
Irenicus: Never....  
  
Dislexic: It's simply... unheard of.... it's not done!! All this because of my open-mindedness. Because I see doors were others see walls. Because I see pathways where others see wastelands. Why, what critism would I get if I also put in the Big Metal Unit?  
  
Irenicus: Oh, you'd be flamed for sure!  
  
Dislexic: Indeed! I can see it now! Notes like "You Perv! That item doesn't exist, you made it up!" Why? Why must I be cursed with this intelligence? Why me?!  
  
Irenicus: I feel you, man. I feel you.  
  
------------------------  
  
20th Day of Nightal 1369 DR  
  
Greetings, and Hail to the Queen Ziranda Rhindaun of Tethyr,  
  
to whom Jered Kincaid of Candlekeep does so humbly address.  
  
Your Highness, I had wished to write this letter at an earlier time, but could not bring myself to. Understand that I am filled with remorse and regret over the pain that I have caused, not only to you personally, but to the countless others of whom I may or may not have inadvertently killed. Yes, I do accept that I may be at fault. No simple apology to any being could erase the damage done, but an effort must be made.  
  
Doubtless news of General Jamis Tombelthen's death has already reached your ears. I wish I could say that it was avoidable. It was not my intention to engage him or his men, but I'm afraid he would offer me no chance for defence. He, and the noble soldiers who fought bravely under his command are all buried in the area of the oasis where we met. You should find it located about half a day's march east north-east of the adobe city Amkathran. My condolences for thier loss, and my apologies. Please send my sincerest regards towards their families as well.  
  
Despite the actions that have been taken, and the terrible tragedies that have occurred, you must understand, oh Highness, that I am not the harbinger of death and destruction that many believe me to be. You yourself, I suspect, are among those people. I am not an ambitious usurper of kingdoms, nor am I a wicked necromancer, plotting to fill the world with the undead. I am not un leuge with the drow, Zhentarim or the wizards or Thay. Dispite this, I have been given more negative attention then those who are as dangerouse as these, if not more. Your Highness, if you likened what has happened during this past year to a whirlpool of chaose, know that I was caught within that whirlpool just as many others were. I did not start it, nor did I knowingly have a hand in any of the destruction it wrought.  
  
In my journeys I have often been placed in the role of the judge, having been forced to make decisions that would, in one way or another, decide that fate of a person's life. How I wish I had always known the facts at those critical times, known the whole story. Perhaps I am right in thinking that you, too, share my point of view. Know that you need not fear me, for I am no threat to your kingdom. Know also that the the armies or Yaga-Shura, Sendai, Balthazar and Abazigal are no more and you need not fear them either. I understand they were a source of grave concern to you, and rightly so. I pray that relieving your kingdom of the pressures of these evil forces can help to repay the debt I fear I owe. Unfortunately, it will have to as I will no longer be available, or in any way accessable. For this, I discourage any attempts to bring me or my companions to trail to answer for the deeds of my brethren bhaalspawn. Let us lay this matter to rest. Let peace prosper in your kingdom and among your people. May we one day meet as friends.  
  
Yours humbly,  
  
Jered Kincaid.  
  
  
  
------------------------  
  
Chapter 9  
  
The game's afoot.  
  
Bryn Shandar. Mertallo's Tower.  
  
The sun had long-sinse risen in Bryn Shandar. The common people were well into starting thier day, but for three magic practitioners, the day was already long in going. Soon it they would have to give in to the natural urges of fatigue. The tower that they dwelt in was, of course, much larger and more spaciose on the inside then it was on the outside. Many runes lined it's exterrior in an elaborate and intricate neverending design. Ever now and then, a passerby would stop and gaze at the tower in bewilderment as well as more then a little fear. None heard the earth- shattering screams of anguish and torment that echoed within, for among the runes were ones of a silence barrier.  
  
"Ready to speak, spirit?" Viconia asked calmly.  
  
The tormented soul of the assassin, whose named turned out to be Ashwin, bared his teeth feebly, as though he could threaten his tormentor.  
  
"More incentive, then?" The drow asked, completing her sentence with a gesture that wracked the spirit in pain, causing him to scream louder.  
  
On the far side of the study, Mertallo and Kincaid poured over tomes and open scrolls, seeking answers amidst the screams.  
  
"I don't suppose she could simply 'compel' the spirit to answer her, hm? Why the interrogation?" Mertallo asked after a rather uncomfortably loud scream.  
  
"This way's more entertaining for her." Kincaid mumbled as he traced the runes on one scroll. "So odd... it can't be a fragment of dead-magic, because I was still held. Paralyzed, aye...." Kincaid looked up to see Mertallo giving him a quizical look.  
  
"Entertaining?"  
  
The mage took a moment to regard the spectral image of Ashwin, who was now screaming as he desperately tried to smother the flames that only he could see and feel. "Must we constantly listen to this, love?"  
  
The drow gave him an evil smile and proceded to surround the spectre in a sphere of silence, then to leave him to his torment, ignoring him.  
  
Kincaid turning his attention back to his old friend. "It's only that she can be very vengeful to those who would do us harm."  
  
The old mage let out a low whistle. "I'll be sure never to do you harm."  
  
"Right, now back to this," said Kincaid. "I had sequenced a few spells to go off in the event that I am rendered helpless. First, a simulacrum of myself, then I would become invisible, with a couple of added protection spells.  
  
"But in this case, nothing happened."  
  
Kincaid nodded. "That would lead me to think the holding spell was designed just for me, to cancel my magic."  
  
Mertallo pursed his lips thoughtfuly. "What about your near- invulnerability? The way blades have trouble cutting your skin."  
  
"I don't know... Viconia intervened before that could be tested." Kincaid sent a smile her way. "Not that I'm complaining."  
  
The drow gave him a demure look, but said nothing.  
  
"Then we should safely assume that the spell was designed for you. To halt your magic and hold you, likely for your death." Mertallo suggested. Then he held up the ritual stone blade. "This, it seems has a litle enchantment in it. Not for combat, mind you. In fact, it's quite fragile, as is any stone weapon. It's enchantment is similar to a vampire's touch or a succubus's kiss. It drains the victim of everything. The power does not go to the wielder."  
  
"I didn't think it would." Kincaid noted. "The power must be channeled somewhere else."  
  
"Which would imply," Mertallo said with a sigh. "that these guys are just the grunts."  
  
Then, Viconia nodded from accross the room and added. "It makes sense. These assassin's gather the power for thier masters, who supply them with these weapons. They're capable of handling the task at hand, namely killing people, but not good at confrontations."  
  
"Save for the event in which they draw my attention." Kincaid pointed out.  
  
"Which means that they, or rather their leaders, where prepared for you." Said the old mage.  
  
Kincaid understood the concern that struck his lover's face at those words.  
  
That night, after some rest and further study into what they had discovered, they trio made plans to seek out more answers in Waterdeep. The spirit of Aswin provided them - After an excessive amount of unnessecary coaxing on Viconia's part - with the name of his contact in what he called the Cult of Murder. The spirit could tell them little more, having been intentionally kept in the dark himself.  
  
The sun had already burned it's final line on the horizon and the darkness of the night found the young wizard and his dark-skinned lover gazing into it's starry depths. By unspoken agreement the two had sought the solace of the solar room. It was, curiously enough, only an open-air room from the inside. The room was actually devoid of all furnishings, consisting only of a circular dias that served as a floor. By now, Kincaid and Viconia both were well-used to the magical tower and it's excessive interior spacing.  
  
"Waterdeep... I've only heard of it." Viconia said at length.  
  
"I've never been there either." Kincaid said responded. "They call it the jewel of the north."  
  
The elf nodded absently. To her it was another hive of drow-hating rivvel. Granted, they hated drow with good reason.  
  
"The information you extracted from Ashwin was correct?" Kincaid asked, simply to continue the conversation, he already knew the answer.  
  
"The spirit could not very well have lied." She mused.  
  
"Still... he wasn't told much." He sighed.  
  
"Likely kept in the dark for our benefit."  
  
"Indeed..."  
  
........  
  
..........  
  
"Kincaid?"  
  
"Yes?"  
  
"When this is over and done with, we WILL have our peace, won't we?" Viconia asked as much as she demanded.  
  
The mage smiled sympatheticly. "Oh, I imagine we'll still have our conflicts, just like any married couple."  
  
The drow looked whistful for a moment. "Hm.... Marriage." Kincaid's version of marriage was far different from what she was used to, down right reversed (Save for that drow females oft kill their husbands once they become bored, or angry, with them. Human males, as Kincaid said, don't do that nearly as much.). Despite this, Viconia did not believe she would have any difficulty assuming the role.  
  
"But yes, I'll see to it." The mage continued. "I, too, grow weary of these endless battles and shadow-chasing."  
  
"And the endless battles." The drow continued, then added with a wicked smile. "Although I am pleased to see you haven't lost your skill along with your divinity."  
  
"Divinity..." Kincaid echoed. The singular word made the elf regard him oddly.  
  
"What is it?"  
  
Kincaid looked down to examine his hands. "I have wondered...."  
  
"Of...?" Viconia pressed.  
  
"I still don't quite feel human." Kincaid whispered. "No avatar am I, nor am Ia fledging godling, yet still... I cannot shake the notion that while Bhaal's essence was removed from me, my blood is yet... inhuman."  
  
The elf nodded, grasping his words and their meaning quicker then most would. "You mean you think you are yet a godchild, but one of no divine alignment."  
  
"No alignment, and no purpose, I think." Said Kincaid. "When Bhaal's essence was in me, I could use it, shape it to my will. Now... I feel as if I still have the potentail for great power... but nothing beyond that. No means of using it. Nothing tangible or any way of touching the weave in the manner I did before."  
  
Viconia offered a sympathetic smile. "Frustrating?"  
  
The mage sighed. "Not so much as... intruiging... and frightening."  
  
"I know how you feel..." Viconia whispered.  
  
The wind picked up subtly, only for a moment and tossed their hair. It's biting chill kept it devoid of any kind of insect, but did not bother the two magic-weavers. Kincaid turned to regard his lover with mixed admiration and wonder. His thoughts filled with memories of how this drow priestess once was. Cold, cruel and a little sadistic. On the outside, at least. What sat next to him now was indeed a far cry from that drow, or for that matter ANY drow he had ever known (Barring Drizzt Do'Urrden). She had shown strength, the strength to change herself and become a better person. She had displayed wisdom and will both by learning and adapting to a world completely alien to her, and then to thrive in it. She had shown endurence and loyalty, but above all, love. Love... what she thought she could never truely feel, what she had consigned as a loss to her, she now felt. The changes amazed the young wizard, and although he knew that it was because of him, his love and his guidence that had brought her to this point, he envied her as though he were a lesser person.  
  
He did not realize he was staring untill he noticed her gaze upon him, one elegantly snow-white eyebrow raised questioningly. Kincaid did not respond with words, but rather slowly led his gaze down her body. With a smile, the elf arched to afford him a better view. The mage moved in closer, reaching up to stroke her soft cheek and hold her there as he leaned forward to kiss her. Viconia graciously accepted his gentle touch. It was still something she was getting used too. No male had ever cherished her as he did, but the elf found that it was not entirely an unfamilar thing.  
  
The kiss deepened as Kincaid bore down on his lover, forcing her to lay back. Their tongues met in a slow, sensual dance while their arms encircled each other. Their hands explored each other with the familiarity of two lovers who each truely knew the other wholly. The next day they would travel to Waterdeep, but that night they knew only the familiar warmth of each other's touch.  
  
***************  
  
The dark, dank room served it's perpose as a meeting area, and did little else. A single candle on the wall beside the room's singular door served as it's only means of illumination. This lack of light was by no means a discomfort to those who inhabited it, for darkness was what suited them best. Were it not for the one human, a short, rat-like man named Kertwyn, the room would consist of no light whatsoever.  
  
"Your men have prooven... adequate, though little more then such. Several have fallen, know you." Hissed a venomouse feminine voice that belonged to one named Vishiree, a female elf whose skin was darker then shadow with peppery grey hair and pinkish-red eyes that glowed in the dark. Vishiree always sent chills down the human's spine.  
  
"I have learned of Kanghing's death in Amkathran." Kertwyn replied cautiously. "I assure you, it is an acceptible loss."  
  
"I said several, iblith!" Vishiree snapped, causing the little man to recoil. "Some of your agents in Calimshan have turned up dead, as well as those in Athkatla. An old paladin is doing the work, I hear."  
  
"Keldorn..." Kertwyn sighed. "It has to be..." The thief bowed his head humbly. "Should I have them target the paladin?"  
  
"As if they'd succeed" Vishiree spat. Then her visage softened someone. "Still.... the power they have gathered up untill this point is enough. Know that I am pleased, despite the obviouse disapointments."  
  
Kertwyn visibly relaxed.  
  
"Inform them that they will have to work harder, the appointed time approaches." She hissed, sending the small man into a series of bowing gestures as he backed out of the room.  
  
"Mistress?" Spoke a silky, masculine voice no less darker then the one it was addressing.  
  
Vishiree turned slightly to acknowladge her leutenant. "Yes, Zinessan, you may speak."  
  
"Kertwyn's cannon fodder may become suspiciouse. They might get it into thier heads that they won't have the place of power you promised them."  
  
That caused Vishiree to smirk. "I'm sure that when he realizes that, it would teach the fool human to truth of dealing with the drow."  
  
Zinessan accepted that with a subtle bow. "I only find myself concerned that they might do damage to... us."  
  
Another voice, one that had been silent up until now spoke a responce in Vishiree's stead. This one was a smoother, almost sultry feminine voice that contrasted to the other female's voice in many ways. Where Vishiree's was harsh and fear-inspiring, Drieza's was low and almost seductive. "Fear not, male. They are watched well enough. I'm more concerned about the Child of Bhaal. He extracted some information from one of the rivvel."  
  
Vishiree snorted. "It was only a matter of time. Now, it is only a matter of trapping the animal."  
  
"I advise caution, mistress." Spoke Zinessan. "Sendai and Abizigal of the five both fell before him, and they were no mean opponents for a human to face."  
  
"No mean opponents, but no intellectual geniuses either." Said the sultry priestess. "The attempts they made were of brawn, not brain, as the humans say."  
  
"As the humans say..." Vishiree echoed. "So now you're adopting thier words?"  
  
Drieza's lips curved into a smile that betrayed nothing. "In knowing your enemy..."  
  
Vishiree hmphed and turned to her male leutenant, though he wisely remained impassive.  
  
The elf raised an eeybrow at the male questioningly. "What? Nothing to say?"  
  
Zinessan made a small, helpless gesture that was rather undrow-like before offering a change of subject. "How soon untill the others arrive.?"  
  
"A matter of days at this rate.... if you're reffering to those two dull- witted smelly beasts." Drieza said.  
  
"And the... mad one?"  
  
"The sorceress is already among us." Said Vishiree. "She will be most usefull, worry not."  
  
*********************  
  
The northern High Road. Two days from Waterdeep.  
  
The air had become steadily crispier, though the two travelers did not notice the gradual, steady change. They had been setting a fast pace. Perhaps it was out of force of habit; a sense of urgency had always before guided their feet. The wind no longer blew dust in their eyes, for the terrain had gradually shifted to that of a more fertile region. Farms littered the countryside. The occasional roadguard made their patrols, on the lookout for the raiding orc parties that still threatened the defenseless farmlands. Off in the distance there burned the dim lights of several, tiny villages like campfires against the persistant darkness of the night sky.  
  
"Hm... Not much further, I say. Waterdeep be but a stone's throw by the looks of it." Said Korgan.  
  
Minsc frowned. "I do not understand why anyone would throw rocks at such large cities, unless those cities hide the darkness of evil in great amounts."  
  
Korgan was about to shoot back a reply, but stopped himself, as if reminded of something. Suddenly he seemed apprehensive.  
  
"Minsc, boy, I've been thinkin. Perhaps ye should go on yer own way to yer homeland. Go on with ye, ye need follow me no longer."  
  
The large man shook his head. "No, Boo once said that friends should stick together, and so we shall! Boo is smart, trust me. Though some people need convincing of this, I don't. Boo has already prooven it to me." Minsc smiled, as if proud of himself, then continued. "Besides, it is a simple stop along the way for me."  
  
Korgan furrowed his brow at the ranger. "Minsc... they ARE in opposite directions...."  
  
Minsc opened his mouth to reply, but thought better of it and consulted his hamster first. Soon enough, he proudly turned to his companion with a ready answer. "Boo says that everything lies on the path forward, nothing is opposite.  
  
With that the two continued to walk in silence. Korgan stayed to the rear, darkness clouding his already rough features as he regarded his companion's back. Despite himself, he was actually growing fond of the dull ranger's company. Although he was set in his course, he knew that he would greatly regret burying his axe in the ranger's thick skull, should it ever come to that.  
  
In a voice too low for the ranger to hear him, he grumbled. "Can't say I didn't give ye a way out, fool boy."  
  
It would only be a matter of time before they reached Waterdeep.  
  
  
  
----------------------------  
  
  
  
Yes yes yes... I know it's been a month since my last chapter, but you have to understand.... I have a situation! I'm also taking my big test this week, which I've been studying for, and my mind as rather focused on more relevent informantion.... such as Elizebeth Taylor's previouse marraiges. You have to understand the weight of the stuff I've been studying... it creates a writer's block all in itself. So you see, there are many distractions that can keep me from writting a new chapter... and phew! Talk about distractions! Yesterday, while I was taking the first part of my test, I was sitting next to this SEXY Hungarian babe. Black hair against smooth, pale skin, dark eyes and a nice pair of 36Cs. Did I mention she wasn't wearing a bra? Every time I glanced over I could see right down her dress.....  
  
Okay, so maybe I didn't score so well on that test.  
  
The good news is that I have bought a new pack of tea. Also I've been thinking of new styles of writting... So I'll be learning more from other authors and trying to intigrate them into my own style. I'm still developing my own style, you see. Readers or Ed Greenwood and R.A. Salvatore can easily see their influence in my fanfic. Hell, every author's influenced by the books they read. If they havn't read book,s they're generally sucky authors. Take, for example, the fanfic entittled "Data" in the Star Trek section. No, I'm not going to flame it, it wouldn't be my style to diminish another author's efforts in writting. However, I am merely going to use it as an example of how NOT to write a fanfic.  
  
(Damn! That Hungarian chick was HOT)  
  
Which brings up something I've been thinking about for a while. Can't we just... you know.... purge all the crappy fanfics from fanfiction? I mean, why not? Only leave the good stuff. Like mine (Hey, that's not me ego talking, that's you guys saying I'm good.). Oh well.  
  
Polyester, silk and nylon-based clothes are far more comfortable then simple cotten. I swear, these shorts make me feel like I'm not even wearing them. You know you've got a good wardrobe when you occasionally have to check to make sure you're still wearing it. This can take some getting used to if you frequent the mall, or a fancy resturant, but it is a sharp contrast to... say... military gear.  
  
For that matter... why can't we all just walk around naked?  
  
(Like that Hungarian chick... love to see her naked....)  
  
My next chapter shouldn't take so long this time. Also, you may find spelling mistakes in this one (don't tell me about it, I already know) because I'm not going to spell-check it. I'm just going to post it.  
  
Specail note in responce to Wraith's post:  
  
Ah yes! You CAN change Viconia's alignment. You CAN make her a better person. But how? Many people have wondered this, and as per your request, I shall provide a detailed list of instructions that will no doubt melt her cold, black drow heart.  
  
Step 1: Be polite.  
  
Yes, be polite when she bludgeon's your backside with her newly-aquired flail because there apparently was an insect on it, or so she says. Do not take offence to this. Remember, you don't want to hinder her spiritual growth, but you should instead turn around and allow her to squash the insects along your chest, stomache, and groin area as well.  
  
Step 2: Be patient.  
  
Patience is a virtue. When you are bleeding to death and literally begging Viconia to heal you, be patient. After all, if she said she would cast a healing spell after she has done her hair, her nails, applied her facail cream and slept at least 12 hours (her beauty sleep, of course) then she will. Don't insult her by asking more then once, this might make her think that you doubt she heard you the first time, and hence, hinder her spiritual growth.  
  
Step 3: Trust her.  
  
Trust is one of the most fundumental aspects of any relationship. Trust her to know what spells to cast in a difficult battle. Should she turn you into a small rabbit, trust that it was out of her superior wisdom that she did so. Keep in mind that she is drow, after all. Thus, she is a higher form of life and understands things that you cannot begin to grasp. Should she sling a stone directly into the back of your skull as you duel toe-to- toe with the world's greatest of villians, trust that she had a reason for doing so and kindly oblige her by promptly loosing consciousness.  
  
Step 4: Indulge her.  
  
As your relationship grows, you will be grealty blessed by the few-and- far between opportunities to indulge Viconia. Do not waste this chance. If she summons spiders to watch them play with you, kindly allow them to sample your flesh. Don't resist, as this might maker he indignant and hinder her spiritual growth. If she starts a conversation, immediately agree with whatever view she expresses and support her when she proposes that all human males should be castrated at the first sign of disobedience. Remember, she is drow. Thus she is a higher form of life.  
  
Step 5: Support her.  
  
Though for most women this would be in a figurative way, for Viconia you must jump at the chance to litterally support her! Do not dare subject her to the rigors of walking, but rather you must carry her across the wastes, the jungles, the dungeons and through the cities. Be sure to construct a suitable, mobile throne for her, or course, as you may not be allowed to touch her directly.  
  
Step 6: Give great head!  
  
Eventually, your relationship will reach the point where Viconia will graciously allow you to go down on her. Remember, if she hasn't kept herself clean it may be because she is testing your endurance. Do not dispair. The effect should be no more lethal then your standard Cloudkill spell. Nevertheless, you will likely be down there for some time, so be sure you wear a ring of regeneration to ensure your survival. Also while some women, thinking themselves rather kinky, would use a whip to encourage you, Viconia would most likely stick to the flail. She is drow, after all. You may want to wear two rings of regeneration  
  
Steps 7-65: Repeat step 6.  
  
Step 66: Be perfect.  
  
Viconia will not allow there to be any flaws in her man of choice. Waste no time in becooming perfect. Remember, you must encourage her spiritual growth by setting an exemple in this fashion. Make no mistakes of any kind. No the correct path to every situation and leave no margin for error. This step is a must.  
  
Step 67: Repeat step 6.  
  
Step 68: Play Throne of Bhaal.  
  
This is essentail. The change in alingment will only occur late in the Viconia romance while playing Throne of Bhaal.  
  
Step 69: Repeat step 6, then add 9. 


	10. No Good deed

Disclaimer: spread legs slightly and slide feet back towards you to bend knees at the right angle.  Raise buttox so the body rests on soles of feet and shoulders.  Raise knees together and at same time contract abdominal muscles.

Dislexic: So, the machine breaks down and new stories as we know them are delayed for several weeks.  What think you on this?

Irenicus: It could all be part of a terrorist plot to prevent literature from flowing freely between our peoples.

Dislexic: hmm, let's step back into reality for a moment, shall we?

Irenicus: Exactly what does reality have to do with this?

Dislexic: Everything!  My story is greatly influenced by what happens in my life!  Speaking of, I should like to make a note.

  Note:  Review!  Damnit!

  End note.

Dislexic:  You see, I realize that Fanfiction.net has suffered temporary problems.  However, even before it did, an entire chapter of mine was posted without any reviews being made on it!  Believe me, that doesn't encourage me to continue with this attempt at authoring!  I need FEEDBACK!

Irenicus:  Well, I think you're good.

Dislexic: And if you were a real person, and not just an alternate personality, that would mean something too me, really it would.

Irenicus mopes off in a corner.

Dislexic: Anyway, here's chapter 10.  You can expect the usual Author's note at the bottom, for those of you who like that.  REVIEW! PLEASE!  I'm going to get some tea.

Chapter 10

Upward and onward.

  _Jered Kincaid? Yes, I knew of the one you speak.  A kind-hearted man with a mean streak.  What puzzles me is why, after all these years, do you come to me about him?_

  Sylune Silverhand 

  11nth day of Hammer, 1377 DR

  Keryn Vale.  Afternoon.

  Keryn Vale was one of those many hamlets that dotted the vast lands between the major cities of the Sword Coast.  Little more then a village with a fort castle, the small town had enjoyed peace and prosperity for more then thirty years. despite the local goblin and orc tribes, as well as the occasional owlbears.  Dangers had a way of inexplicably  avoiding Keryn Vale.  

  Recently, however, the peasant farmers and woodworkers that lived within it's tiny confines had become uneasy.  Only a scant four weeks after the death of their lord, Gravnis Ackidaber Keryn, the arrival of a Zhentish scouting party – Resplended in gleaming black armor – gave them cause for concern.

  Arun Thatcher could hardly believe how quickly his luck had turned.  Why, earlier this year crops had been coming in by the wagons out of his farmland, and profits from that high yield seemed promising indeed.  The roof over several parts of his meager and meagerly built house would have the repairs they badly needed.  New supplies as well!  Yes, the earth had blessed his efforts and luck, as it seemed, was with him.

  The Zhents had changed that with merely their presence.  Now with a mug of long-since bitter ale, the poor farmer was content to drink his troubles away with his fellows, who were suffering just as greatly as he.

  "With that… that was the last of 'em.  At least some of you have still more you can hope to sell.  Caravans may come this way yet on their way northward.  You, you can sell your stocks to them."  Spoke Tom Magmog, a hardworking and oft witty farmer who's lands where to the south Keryn vale, in between the Hills to the south and the fort Castle to the north.  His was a narrow strip running east-west for a few miles. "Now for me,  The labor I've put into the earth is enough for this ale!"

  "Not ale enough, Tom.  They took mine was well.  Learn this, mind.  Never become content under a kind ruler, for in a season or so, he shall be replaced." Said Arun.

  "Bah!  So true.  And Chauntea mayhap is turning her eye blind to us?"  Said the third of the group, Hroun Maywinter.  Known as a pessimist, he is also known to be right.

  "Have a care, Hroun." Said Arun. "For she did not send the Zhents here to plunder us.  To rape Keryn Vale—"

  "Yet she has not stopped  it." Hroun countered.  Meanwhile, Tom quietly emptied his mug, turned pale, then green momentarily.

  Arun did not return a comment.

  "Ye'll be the first, as is it always, to blame the heavens for our troubles." Said Tom. "Yer broken cart, leaky roof, the holes in yer coat…"

  "It's more then coincidence! Misfortunes these bad 's orchestrated!" Came the stubborn reply.

  Arun calmly drank, for no better reason then to drown out Hroun's wailing.  At length he spoke, more to his mug then his friends. "And so it has come about, me hearties.  The wind billows the sails of evil as well as good.  Look now, we can go no farther.  On our last legs, we are overtaken."

  "Aye?  What was that now?" Asked Tom.

  "Hm?  Oh, years back, merchants that stayed here would tell me of plays and theatre.  That was a line from one, one I have not seen but can well identify with, look you.  Just as we have worked hard for our goods, so have they for theirs.  In doing so, they've taken ours for their own."

   Now a man who had not been seen entering asked this of the farmers with an oddly foreign accent.  Foreign because it was quite articulate and grammatically correct. "Taken?  Forgive me, good man, but I could not help overhearing.  Of what do you speak?"

  Now the three friends turned as one to the next table.  There sat a most peculiar pair.  One was a tall and dark with what appeared to be leather armor under his traveling cloak.  Subtle bulges here and there suggested weapons, things of which Arun and his friends had seen far too much of late.

  His companion was peculiar in her own way.  She had a cheerful face framed with reddish-pink hair and bright smile to greet the farmers warmly.  She wore neither the feminine attire of a noblewoman, nor the dusty garments of a slave or farm maiden.  Rather, she was garbed in the robes of a mage, heavily altered here and there for better protection and maneuverability.  A bow was slung over her back, along with several articles of mage paraphernalia.

  "Only the worst of things, 'good man'.  A thing that never fails to happen, mind you." Hroun was the first to address the strangers, being the most inebriated at this point. "A fortnight past – or maybe two or three, as no one ever gets a clear grasp of Zhent activities – a certain scouting party of the black network – or whatever – came to stay our li'l castle in the center of town.  Not that we were well informed, or that we could do anything about it.  Truth be known, they didn't come as a Zhent scouting party-"

  "Or a Zhent anything." Arun put it. "Just a raggy bunch of riders."

  "Raggy aye." Tom agreed "With nice, shiny swords and polished armor."

  Not wanting to be cut off, Hroun burst forth. "I was telling the story!"

  All conversation in the small pub came to a sudden halt.

  "So they stayed at the castle.  That being the last day we heard of, or from Tintigal Garila… something.  Wizard with a long name-"

  "It's Tintingaal Garlingard!" Rebuked Tom. "Not a hard name to remember.  It almost rhymes!"

  "Rhymes like Tom-mommom?" Hroun smiled mockingly.

  "Magmog!" Tom shouted back. "An a better name it is then yours.  Aye, a question!  Maywinter.  What!  Some sort of a ship, or is it 'Mayhap winter will come this year?'"

  Arun, being closer to the strangers then the other two, leaned towards them as Hroun and Tom continued with their bickering and informed them thus. "Tintin was the court wizard, under the service of lord Gravnis Ackidabar Keryn.  Rather kindly as wizards go.  Used his magic to protect the land - defenseless as it is – and nurture the soil, much to our gratitude.  After the death of lord Keryn, Tintin served as the steward of Keryn Vale, look you.  These past weeks…. three weeks."

  "And as I was saying in the first place, Arun," Said Hroun with a touch of indignation. "We haven't heard a thing from him… or of him.  Yet we who saw them enter, an waited all night, saw no signs of battle.  No spell-battle between wizards would go so quietly."

  "Indeed." Said the pink-haired woman.

  Her dark-skinned companion nodded his agreement. "Go on."

  "And so, without any announcement or fanfare, we are now under Zentish occupation.  It just seemed to have happened that way.  A wizard was among the scouting party, if you ask me.  Look you, stay not long in this darkened valley.  The sun has set upon us, and may yet, you." Another gulp of ale all around. "As for us, it is what it is.  My crops seized for their foodstuffs in the castle.  Hroun raises crops none too good regardless, so they let his alone." The burly pessimist growled at that through his ale. "Five or more of the lassies that ran errands or milk and such have been seized as well.  Again, they let alone the Maywinter women." The last bit was well-timed, for Hroun was again taking a swig when it was spoken.

  "Aye, he says 'All will go wrong' and makes him and his look like his future predictions, but the worst passes over him." Tom chided as an aside to the stranger.

  "Enough jesting!" Exclaimed the pessimist (though in truth, all three were well far from optimistic).  With that he wiped some errant ale foam from his upper lip with one dirty sleeve and addressed the dark-skinned stranger. "You have the whole of it-hey!  Where…?"

  Where did he go, was what Hroun started to ask, for in the moment it took him to wipe the foam of his face the two strangers had made themselves scarce.  Arun  looked just as helpless to provide an explanation, for he hadn't seen them go either.

  "Tom, did you…?" Arun asked, leaning forward and whispering.

  "Did I what?  Wisk them away?" asked Tom.

  "No fool, didja see anything?"

  "I'm no fool, mark you." Tom was a little indignant at that.  He was, actually, known for his sharp wit, mostly with back-talking.

  "Fool of a Mom-mom, answer the question!" Growled Hroun.

  "MAG-MOG!  Here, I'll spell it for ye- Em-Aie-Jee-Em-Oh-Jee." –That took a little time and thought for Hroun to piece together.-  "A Good name, sirs.  More so then yours, as I'll point out again.  And Yes, I did."  With that, he offered nothing further for a solid three minutes as he nursed the rest of his ale away.  At length, and after much burping (a favored method of procrastinating in such a circumstance) he said. "They disappeared.  Mages!  I was right."

  Keryn Vale had become ominously quiet with the Zhentish occupation.  Most who walked its dirt paths (few were paved) remained silent.  Yet a pair of voices, along with two pairs of quieted footfalls plodded a path in the general direction of Keryn Vale's fort Castle, Valehold.

  "It's not that far out of the way, and we have no time limit to speak of." Spoke a cheery, girlish voice.

 "I know, Imoen, and of course I'm always inclined to help those in need…" 

  "But what?  Oh, I see.  You find the possibility of another wizard battle souring, hm?"

  "What the farmer said.  No sign or sound of a spell-battle.  Wizards go with quite the fanfare when they do."

  "Tcheh.  It could be no more then a silence trick.  Properly cast, a wizard can make a rather large globe, mind.  I'm not too worried and you shouldn't be either, Valygar.  Come on!  We're doing something to help out people in need, and I imagine it would only take a moment.  Not even half a day's work for fearsome creatures like us, eh, love?  I'll make you some fresh cider."

  "Alright.  You don't have to go on.  But if this somehow backfires very badly in our faces…"

  "Yes yes.  A pre-emptive 'I told you so'."

  Southern Icewind Dale.  A blizzard.

  "It's not really that bad."  Kincaid shouted over his shoulder.  The howling wind drowned out his voice long before it could reach the ears of either Viconia or Mertallo.  After a second repetition, this one louder then before, he was greeted with a response.

  "Aside from the three-thousand foot plummet to the ground, should this spell fail, I agree." Said Mertallo as he eyed the ground nervously.

  "For such a short-lived race, you humans are just too frightful.  It's so terribly wonderful to watch." Spoke Viconia's mirthful voice.

  "That's a cause, dearie, not a coincidence.  Should you come to know that you would be dead in mere decades you would want to savor every day, not to put your life in unnecessary risk."

  "Flying through a blizzard is hardly unnecessary." Kincaid laughed reprovingly. "It's fun.  Quite necessary fun at that.  .

  "Kids!"  Said the old mage with a resounding 'Harumph'.

  Kincaid and Viconia laughed at that, both taking it as a compliment.  It had been far too long since either of them had felt as such.

  Amendment.

  It should be noted that in the official records, very little is said about the journey south from Icewind Dale to Waterdeep by Jered Kincaid and company.  This unusual lapse of historical record-keeping cannot be explained for, save for the most likely scenario; The records are lost.

  What is known for a fact is that Kincaid _Flew through the ongoing blizzards on his journey south.  He did not gate, teleport, or travel by foot.  Many historians question the logic of this, knowing that, as a wizard, Kincaid would have been thoughtful and logical – despite the popular belief in Tethyr that is quite the opposite - while weighing the risks of such a course of action.  However, we can determine that extra-planer travel was not an option for one particular reason; namely, a disjunction spell._

  While that is not exactly the spell's name, it's a proper description of what took place during the brief period of time between the fall of Valehold and Kincaid's arrival at Waterdeep.  Wizard's know it as a field that disrupts any means of extra-planer travel through it, causing the one teleporting to re-materialize in not quite the same shape as he was in before.  Not quite alive either.

  Suffice it to say, it appears that such a field was put in place long enough to disrupt Kincaid's journey, but briefly enough to avoid the attention of nearby lords.

   ---Ahlzamar.

   Scribe, Historian.  Candlekeep 1384 DR.

  There's something wrong with the milk I've put in my tea, maybe I'll switch to honey.  Yeah, I've been reading other books.  Tolkien and Morgenstern among the most notable.  Did you know that the original book 'The Princess Bride' was well over a thousand pages long?  I found that I discovered more about Florinese history and William Goldman's personal past then any relevant information about the story itself from reading this book over here.  Oh well, Down is down.

  Now I realize that Me and my story has pretty much cycled it's way to the second page of the Bauldar's Gate list.  It has been over a month, I know, but know that I've been busy.  First off, I'm memorizing a three-thousand page book on PCs.  It starts with Stonehenge and ends with Ata-5's and SCSI-3's and all those wonderful numbers that we really don't pay to much attention to except to make sure that it's a higher number then the one we currently have before we buy it.

  Did you know that proprietary computers are crap?  It's a fact, a proven and excepted fact.  They really are crap.  Non-upgradeable crap.  If you own one, that was a crappy choice on your part, man.

  Now I am pretty tired, y'know.  I was going to go into another rant about rotten  lemons (I think we should purge all sucky lemons from fanfiction.net so that when you go to read a lemon, you'll know it'll be a good one.) but I'm leaning towards saving it for next time.  Yeah, I'm leaning a lot.  Nodding too.  Kinda….. falling….


	11. Goes unpunished

Disclaimer: I'm starting this chapter at about 4 in the morning.  I just paused a moment to scratch myself.  I have a five o'clock shadow and my hands feel a little cold.  I'm wearing clean socks.  I have showered recently.

Dislexic: Greetings, to my two faithful readers.  I am, as always, Dislexic.  How are you?  How old are you?  Are you sure you should be reading this?  What is your favorite color?

Irenicus:  He's been without tea.

Dislexic:  That's not true!

Irenicus:  He's also been among the lemons, you see, so he's not completely right in the head at this moment.

Dislexic:  Don't listen to him.  Anyway, as you all know, if you have any questions, please submit them in your review and I shall hasten to answer them in the following chapter.

Irenicus:  Also, a special thanks goes out to the TWO people who reviewed the last chapter.

Dislexic:  Yes, I truly thank you, and look forward to the day when my stories will be read by three or perhaps four people.

Irenicus:  As an aside, how long have you let certain questions go unanswered?  

Dislexic:  Far too long, my alter-ego!  To whomever it may concern regarding the Black Razor:  The sword really does kick ass, but as far as my story is concerned, my party received as per a freak accident involving the machine of Lum the Mad.  Kincaid did not kill any Djinni to get it, ok?  Hence, he keeps his alignment.

-*-*-*-

  _To Princess Gelindra Hammersun_

_  does her most humble servant, Ikabar send his greetings,_

_  My lady, it is a day of clouds, a day of sorrow.  The sun daren't show his head on this eve of mourning.  It is with no pleasure, my princess, that I pen these words to you.  For I, myself did bear witness regarding the things I must write, and I know them to be true.  With my own eyes did I see your betrothed, Lord Gravnis Akaidia fall to the blade.  And I, for all my will and want could not take his place in the grave.  Know that he died well, and quickly.  He would not suffer to beg for life.  Indeed, Lord Gravnis was noble to his very end.  I shall be returning to your side within a tenday, my lady, and I pray that you forgive me for bearing such distressing news.  I knew how much you loved each other._

_Ikabar _

_1370 DR_

*-*-*-*

  Chapter 11

  … Goes unpunished.

  Keryn Vale.  Evening.  Outside the Fort-Castle.

  Those who pass through simple villages at this time of year do well to keep themselves warm.  Still with winter's frost holding on during cloudy days and night's ever-present chill the prospect of sleeping on a pile of hay for the night is not often a warming one.  Few ever find themselves stripping to the skin, relieving themselves of the tiring yet necessary burden of travel-wear before taking the long dive into the pile.

  Yet mostly anyone who passes, for the night, through such a village will find themselves accomidated by nothing more.  Keryn Vale did boast a tavern, true, yet no inn.  And why should it?  The country was littered with thousands of such tiny hamlets.

  What warrants attention to this scene, is far more then the issue of keeping warm.  For two people, who by all rights should net be there, where there.  Valygar held in a grunt he wished to expel as he scaled the outer wall of the Fort-Castle.  Imoen was, he knew, floating somewhere above.

  "Either they are overly confident, overly stupid, really tired, or expecting us." Whispered a voice by Valygar's ear.

  "What makes you think that, Imoen?"

  "No sentries, no guards on patrol.  Mayhap they're all asleep, or lying in ambush." Came her reply.

  That didn't surprise Valygar too much.  It was quite possible that the Zhents had become aware of their presence and were indeed preparing an ambush.  It was also possible that they all nodded off.

  The tall Ranger grabbed hold of a section of the wall and pulled himself up a bit farther.  "Going to get a closer look?" He grunted.

  A slight pause. "In a minute…"

  Four and a half feet later Valygar slipped.  He quickly tried to grab on to the wall but his hands found no hold secure enough.  He would have fallen if not for a pair of invisible hands catching him.

  "Mm… you're a little heavier then you think." Said Imoen as she helped the dark man up. "That could have been the doom of the mighty Corthalla ranger."

  Valygar stiffened his hands as he found another hold - though he tested this one quite thoroughly - and was blissfully aware of Imoen's cinnamon scent.  A pleasant, if unwanted distraction.

  "Imoen.  I…" Valygar soon found that words failed him.

  "Yes, my partner in criminal justice?"

  "….. Thank you."

  The Ranger felt a soft kiss being planted on his cheek.  The mage's 'You're welcome'.

  He poked his head up over the wall-line cautiously, then pulled himself over the edge.  Valygar soon understood what Imoen had meant.  Now standing on the battlements of the small Fort-Castle, the ranger could make out no sign of inhabitants.  No guards, no sentries, no nothing.

  "Hm… spooky." The ranger whispered into the air.

  "Well," The air answered back. "Shall we have a look?"  

*-*-*-*-*

  Valygar moved as silently and as smoothly as oil.  His formidable weapons held close to himself, under his cloak to keep the light from reflecting upon it.  Yet still, never had he been so confused, or worried.  Well, perhaps once or twice in his past he had been in a more confusing situation, but this still was one of the more notable ones.

 Not a single soldier made his presence known to the ranger.  Though Valygar was a skilled tracker, every new turn yielded another empty hallway or room, and a new disappointment.    

  The Fort-Castle itself was not quite remarkable.  The occasional tapestry hung here and the occasional battlement there.  Furniture was what could be expected of a low-budget manor.  The walls where constructed of the customary stone and wood combination.  A cheap design.  Overall, there was nothing special about it.

  Save for that there was no one it.

  Valygar entered the great hall, not that it was great, or much of a hall.  It was, however, the only double-tiered room that consisted of a large, throne-like chair.

  Valygar smiled at that.  A throne to rule such a tiny hamlet. "Aren't we being presumptuous?"

  "Quite, mouse."

  The ranger spun, half-expecting Imoen to be behind him.  Only it wasn't Imoen's voice, nor was it Imoen's person.  A women garbed in sorcerers robes stood on the second level, looking down on him like a noblewoman would very a peasant or some other kind of rodent.  Her hair was like a shiny black velvet, her features sharp and altogether wild, quite attractive actually.  Her eyes were a deep emerald green.  Pretty, but wild, and not quite sane either.

  The woman sniffed. "Hm… pepper and rabbit.  A tree-hugger.  Well, mouse?"

  Valygar frowned. "Who are you?  What are you doing here?  Are you with the Zhentarim?"

  Ever wary, the ranger brought his blades up before him defensively.  His mental training tuned on his magical resistance.  If this odd wizard was planning on sending spells his way, Valygar would be ready.

  Her expression did not change as she stepped closer to the edge of the second level.  For some reason, there were no handrails build there.  Cheap castle. "Zhent?" The woman hissed.  "Predictable tree-hugger… do you know you, how you smell?  It's a mouthful of forest logs and leaves.  Some spice, but otherwise disgusting."  Her voice was breathy, like that of a seductress despite the venom in her words.  Her breathing in itself made small moans and sighs as if she breathed through her voice box.  Nothing about her seemed normal. her posture proved to be just as wild as the look in her eyes with her head craning this way and that, her shoulders rolling and flexing and her hands clenched.  "Zhents smelled better.  Sweat and blood." She smiled at this. "Not dark enough to be among ME however… mouse."

  The sorceress emphasized this with a clap of her hands.  Dark shapes moved through the doorways in unnerving unison.  Like wolves they circled their prey, and the Ranger knew with a deepening sense of dread that these were no Zhentish soldiers.

  They were drow.

  The sorceress smiled madly and took a step cleanly off the edge, and did not fall. "Sweat…" She whispered in anticipation, licking her lips.  "And blood…"

  Valygar took a quick count; there were seven.  Seven drow swordsmen plus a sorceress seemed like bad odds, but the Ranger was determined.  

  "Oh?  Fight?" The sorceress, floating many feet above him laughed.  "No, dear mouse.  You will be as your friend… wandering rabbit that smells like pepper." Imoen's unconscious form floated into view at the woman's bidding, no longer invisible.  The sorceress raised an eyebrow at the Ranger's expression.  "No, mouse.  No fighting.  There will be things for you, mouse, and your rabbit too.  Where you're going, you'll have no trees to hug" A cackle. "Kiss them goodnight, there is no way out.  Not for any of us…"

  Valygar's will surged a tidal wave to match his anger and frustration.  Lightning flashed as the Celestial Fury cut the air towards the first drow while Malakar moved with fluid grace as it deflected the first incoming blows.  The Ranger was no mean opponent, his muscles surged with unnatural hardiness, his will focused to force away any spells the mad sorceress might see fit to hurl at him, but he was out matched.

  The first three drow formed a semi-circle around him, each duel-wielding curved blades.  Scimitars, the Ranger judged.  The drow on either side moved in reflection of each other in an arc, crossing their wrists as they struck downward as the center drow double-stepped forward with a thrust.

   Valygar was forced to retreat a moment, then Malakar flashed in a wide sweep with angled precision from right to left.  The Ranger then followed through by stepping forward to meet the center attacker, Celestial fury leading.  As the swords clashed, Valygar twisted his over that of the drow's and forced it down.

  He did not expect to be able to push any kind of attack.  Rather, he knew that his dark-skinned opponents would redouble their efforts and force him to give up more ground.

  The two drow on either side went in low, cutting from outside so as not to tangle themselves up.  Valygar was ready.  As the center drow moved again for a quick kill, the ranger hopped back half a step, then pivoted forward and thrust his blades out diagonally, crossing his arms in front of him.  The two drow smirked as they reflexively moved to parry the simple attack, but they were not the Ranger's intended targets.  The center drow had barely a moment to raise his swords in a feeble defense which did not meet the mark.  Valygar's katanas crossed like scissors and flew out wide.  The cut was so clean that the center drow blinked for a second and opened his mouth as if to speak before the light in his eyes went out.

  His head hit the floor soon thereafter.  His body followed. 

  The other drow paid no heed to their companion's fall and pressed their attacks in synchronous with dark elven precision, forcing the Ranger to retreat further.  During all this, the other four drow warriors did nothing but form a semi-circle around the sorceress, arms crossed and weapons yet unsheathed.  The sorceress, for her part, yawned.

  "No struggle, mouse." The woman red-robed sorceress whispered. "Fall and rest.  Sleep, dear tree-hugger."  With that she moaned and rubbed her hands together.  Her half-lidded eyes glowed briefly as her hands parted once, then came together in a clap.

  Valygar, for all his powers in resisting magic, fell to the ground in slumber.

  The mad woman let out a deep, feminine, almost longing sigh that would have sounded erotic to any who did not know her.  The Ranger had put up the effort she had expected him to, and would likely have continued for some time had she allowed him.  Still she was disappointed, this one was too narrow-minded, and while he kept good care of himself, he still smelled like tree-bark to her, and that simply would not do.

  The sorceress frowned, now reaching for a vial of thick red liquid from within the folds of her silken robes, so dark that it stained the glass that contained it.  She reluctantly downed the contents, ignoring the protests of her stomach.  Perhaps later she would find a more tasty replacement, she wondered, If what she heard about her quarry was correct, at any rate.

  The drow soldiers gathered their new burden.  The sorceress cremated the fallen drow.  Within moments, there was no sign of any life within the Fort-Castle.

  As for the citizens of Keryn Vale, they still believed for some time that they were under Zhentish occupation, not knowing that the trap had already been sprung.

  And removed.

*-*-*-*-*

  Overlooking Waterdeep.  Meanwhile.

  "Ah!  It is so good to finally be here!  Boo and I can hardly wait to tell every one we meet about the great deeds of goodness we have done!" Said a loud voice thick with a Rasheman accent. "We shall tell all until this city is out of water to wet our parched throats!  Yes!  Waterdeep shall be shallow!"

  Beside Minsc, Korgan stood with his arms folded, as silent as a statue.  The dwarf's gray eyes were two deep voids, empty of emotion.

  "I wish I could say I'd be sorry to part ways with ye, Minsc." Korgan grumbled.

  The tall berserker smiled down at his diminutive friend. "Wishes can come true, Boo told me." Boo squeaked in agreement.

  The dwarf grunted and walked ahead of the Ranger several paces.  He paused to view the city they had reached with his arms crossed.  The time had come.  Dawn was still far off, which meant that his hidden 'friends' were most likely there already.

  "Boo and I are glad to have been in your company." Minsc said.  The hampster squeaked.  Korgan remained motionless. "Ah!  The fields of Rasheman call us, so we must be on our wa-"

  Minsc did not get a chance to finish his sentence.  Nor did he feel the poisoned dart that had put him to sleep.  Needless to say, he never saw the lithe, dark forms that surrounded him soon thereafter.

  Korgan slowly looked to face the newcomers, scowling in irritation and unhidden hate for the dark elves.

  "For a surfacer, you have done…. sufficiently."  Said Zennisan with obvious reluctance. "This lout will please the Mistress, though I care not as to why.  Most likely he'll serve as a trophy, his head hung over some cesspool." The other drow chuckled at that.  Korgan did not.  "Oh come, dwarf, treachery is not coming to you today, no, the Mistress has use of you and-"

  The dwarf's eyes flashed. "That spider of a woman can bite my boot, after I clean your carcass from it first, drow!"  Several drow snarled and reached for their weapons, but Zenissan lifted a warning hand.  He was used to the dwarf's candor.  Korgan's outburst did not surprise him.

  "Then you are turning down your reward?" The drow captain asked coolly.

  "Hmph!  I'm tellin' ye to shut yer mouth before I fill it with yer black guts!  Of course I'm no turning back on the deal, ye black bastard.  Give me what ye promised and hold yer tongue, or I'll give that to your precious 'Mistress' too."

  Despite the venom in his words, Zenissan actually liked the dwarf.  Or rather, he understood him.  Full of greed, and more then enough of other kinds of evil.  So long as the rewards were appealing enough, Korgan could be controlled.  Zenissan tossed a good-sized leather bag at the dwarf's feet.  Korgan picked it up slowly, as if expecting treachery.  He gave the bag a little bounce and heard it 'chink'.  Then he opened it just enough to look inside quickly, before closing it with a smile.

  "Done.  Now let's be gone!"  Korgan barked.

  Zenissan made a gesture to the other drow, who collected the unconscious body of Minsc.  One drow, Zenissan's chief lieutenant who was called Driezen, paused to share a look of great annoyance with his superior.  Turning so that the dwarf could not see, his hands moved in the silent hand language of the drow.

  _Will we suffer that weal for long?_

  Zenissan only shrugged.

  Driezen glared and signed, _The other's will not be as patient as you.  No drow will answer to his orders.  If that iblith starts giving some…_

   Zenissan froze his liutenant with a glare and harshly gestured, _They will be acknowlaged.  Know that now is no time for disobedience._

  Driezen recoiled. _It is not that.  It is the moral of the men that concernes me.  Others are not as prudent as you or I.  They would allow thier pride to rule them._

  _See to it that they do not. Zenissan replied._

*********

  With the world full of it's intruiges and wonders, if any one man where to know of all the activities to happen upon it in a single minute would take years to summerise in writting.  Pursueing such knowlage has been the course of many a scholor.  Often they spend thier lives devoted to the aquisition of useless knowlage.

  Then there are those who focus only on unraveling certain mysteries.

  "It doesn't make sense." Grumbled Kincaid.  The blue-haired mage was sitting on empty air, his head in his hands and the sword taken from thier most recent quarry floating in the air above him.  They were only a day away from Waterdeep and while they would have gladly continued on through the night, prudence demanded that they regain thier lost spells.  

  "Canon fodder!  Do these people know this when they're sent off to thier deaths?" He continued.

  Mertallo shook his head slowly. "I don't think so.  Alright, I can buy that blood-hungry thugs are given knives and told to kill.  Sure.  Plausable.  But the weapons kill them too, after a time."

  "Cannon fodder..." Kincaid repeated

  "Oh stop it." Said Viconia.  The beautiful drow was tending to several long strips of meat hovering a foot over the campfire.  Her dark eyes seemed shrewd in it's light.  "It's not far removed from a drow tactic.  Give weapons to those eager to kill along with promises of glory and power.  It seems logical enough.  The real power behind all of this is yet unseen."

  The old wizard spread his hands.  "You mean the drow tactic where they use goblins as thier frontline skirmishers?"

  Viconia nodded.  "Use the fodder first, and grow strong.  Save the real strength for what's left."

  Kincaid mumbled with his head in his hands. "Cannon fodder."

  The drow smirked and resumed tending the meat.  "Granted, yes.  However I... "

  Kincaid looked up, curiouse. "What is it?"

  Viconia waved a dismissive hand.  "The steak is done.  I hope you like yours rare."

  Mertallo winced, which only made Kincaid smile more broadly.  They ate in relative silence.  It would be a rare thing indeed if they were beset by danger this close to the jewel of the north, so Mertallo took the opportunity of turning in early that night.  The old wizard's snores were quieted with a globe of silence spell Viconia wasted no time in casting.

  "Thank you."  The blue-haired mage murmered.  Earlier, he had sent the remains of his dinner far off into the night to feed some animal.

  The drow favored him with an agreeable smile, sitting in front of him.  "So, how're you coming along with what I've been teaching you?"

  Kincaid raised his head and blinked.

  The elf raised an eyebrow gestured expectantly.  "The strong survive."

  Kincaid quickly replied. "Lil gareth dro'xun."

  The drow nodded and continued.  "However, the smart thrive."

  Kincaid paused briefly.  "Relu'oh lil ne'kalsa te-smur"

  Viconia smiled.  "Very good.  Now... We live for one reason."

  The mage replied almost without thinking.  "Usstan ssinssrin ulu v'ren dossta khel."

  Viconia's started at that unexpected responce, but a catlike smile took form as her eyes narrowed.  "There will be plenty of time for that later, I assure you.  I'm glad to see you've learned quickly, though.  One thing, however.  The language varies slightly from city to city, sometimes house to house.  Many words in Common have obscure translations."

  Kincaid returned her smile and made a half-nod as his head returned to his hands.  A small groan escaped his lips, disturbing the otherwise peaceful night.  Lately he had been quiet, his eyes somewhat red.  The elf felt a pang of concern for the man whom she had grown so close to.

  Viconia kneeled before her lover and took his head between her hands.  She frowned with concern.  "How's your headache?"

  "It's still there.  But it's subsided a little."

  The drow frowned.  "Two days... what do you think it could be?  Something unnatural?"

  Kincaid rubbed his eyes.  "Hard to tell.  At first I though it was getting worse the closer we got to Waterdeep... but now."  The mage sighed.  "It's better now, you know.  Just don't shout, ok?"

  Viconia smiled.  "Deal."

  Kincaid covered one of her slender hands over with his.  He closed his eyes and let her fingers slide across his face.  Her touch was so soothing to him.  At times he wondered how he ever relaxed without it.  When his eyes opened again.  They were seriouse.

  "What were you trying to say before?"

  Viconia looked down hesitantly.  "I hope it's nothing but...  I've been trying to think of possible candidates as to who our enemies are.  Using goblins as cannon fodder is nothing new to most of the evil races.  Using humans... Well, that narrows the field."

  The mage nodded.  "Go on..."

  The elf paused a moment. "The Zhentarim don't use those tactics, as far as I know.  Niether do the Githyenki.  There's the Illithids..."

  "That would explain my headache." Kincaid said ruefully.

  "But not the fodder themselves.  They did not show the mechanicle movements or blank faces of somewhat who's mind was controlled.  Then the drow themselves."

  Silence hung between them for several moments.  Kincaid had inwardly feared that it would be them.  True, they had dealt with the drow before, but on those occasions the blue-haired mage had been sure to work the situation to their favor.  They had fought on his terms and had succeeded because they were well-prepared.  With the tables reversed, however, the Drow were more then formidable.

  "Indeed,"  He said at length.  "Then we'll have to prepare for the worst and hope you're wrong."

  His lover favored him with one of her more beautiful smiles.  "Ohh... poor human.  I thought by now you'd learn that I'm never wrong.  It must be my fault, not showing it to you as blatently as I should."

  "Yes, quite right.  I just don't learn fast enough.  Really, Viconia, why do you bother keeping me around?"

  A dark chuckle escaped her lips.  "Why, to make me look better, of course.  And to carry things and do menial labor."

  Kincaid gave a weak smile.  "Sorry I'm not doing my job, lover, because you don't look any better."

  The two shared a quick laugh before the mage winced.  He held Viconia's hand against his temple and closed his eyes.

  "You really need to get some rest."  Viconia slowly carressed her lover's face as she spoke, then leaned forward to kiss him.  Kincaid opened up to the kiss, enjoying the familiar contact of the one woman who truely knew him.  Her touch was both electric and soothing, cool and refreshing as the crisp night air.  Viconia gently brought him to the ground, making sure he was comfortable as she let the power of her spell flow through her lips and into him.  The pain of Kincad's headache did not follow him into his dreams, and the mage was greatful for that.

  "Rest you shall, my mrann d'ssinss."  Viconia said with satisfaction.  Kincaid  and Mertallo where both quietly alseep.  Both safely under her watchful eyes.

**********

  Beneath Waterdeep.

  Now the occasional rat scampered here and there to aquire some sort of food to eat, while the  comparitively larger denizens of Waterdeep's infrastructer remained still for the most part.  Not that they ever dared to venture towards the surface, for the Waterdeep itself was named the city of splendors with good reason.  Any underground creature lucky enough to make it under the sky would soon find it's luck cut short under the heel of a guard's boot.  So the Kobolds, goblins and other ill-fated creatures had to contend themselves with being this close.

  Shadows here and there shifted.  This in itself was not unusual, for this part of the underground had little, if any light to cast shadows.  Faces unseen accompanied the shadows.  Dark, seriouse faces with eyes that glowed red in the dark.

  The kobolds and goblins did well to give the drow a wide birth.  Still, some that did not move quickly enough were made to remain still, never to move again.  Those who lived and dared to gatch a glimpse of the dangerouse elves saw them head towards to east corridor.  That part of the cavern was not traveled often, for it lead to the surface.

  To Waterdeep.

**********

  I'd like to say in my defense that I've been dreadfully busy this past month.  I've moved, you see.  I've changed jobs.  Yes, I've moved up a step, going from fast food to the much higher paying job of tech support.

  Yeah, I suddenly look much more attractive you you ladies, don't I?

  Joking aside, I don't recommend getting into this line of work.  It's stressful.  Most of the day I deal with complete idiots who think I can just type something into my box and make all thier errors go away.  Yah, uh-huh.  Sure.

  As you can imagine, there's a long and involved ritual used to wind down after such a day at work.  The first step is - of course - a double shot of Bacardi Rum, followed by one solid hour of video games.  Neverwinter and Morrowind are both good choices.  Then a shower would be in order, followed by no less then half and hour of sitting down and starring off into space.  This is known as "standby mode".  Obviously, the next step would be to put something lightwieght on and proceed to the gym where there would take place a long-overdue venting of anger and frustration on the apartment complexes punchin bag (my favorite part.).  Wieghtlifting is next, then food, and if the day had been particularly stressful, more rum.  Tea, I've noticed, is not quite as effective when winding down.

  However, I still do, of course, drink tea.  Every morning at my fist availible break (you have to punch a code in even to take a shit, by the way.) I go get myself a seventy-cent tall cup of tea.  They have Eight flavors!!

  For more information, watch the movie "Office Space".

  One last thing.  I'm currently working on a couple of other projects.  Look for a new paordy of Metal Gear Solid 2, done by me, and a novel in the Tekken section.  Maybe sometime next month, I guess.


	12. Rook to King's Bishop

Disclaimer:  Go into your config.sys file and enter the command line User equals IDtenT.  If performed correctly, it will give the computer a good idea as to what the real problem is.

(User = ID10T)

  Dislexic:  Before I even got reviews on my last chapter, this one is already on the drawing board.

  Irenicus:  Coming back with a vengeance, aren't we?

  Dislexic:  Must be the rum.  For those of you not following, I've had some pretty huge gaps in between my chapters here.  This last gap lasted about two or two and a half months.  That's pretty sad, isn't it?  All that time going by, Balduar's Gate becoming less popular with the coming of newer and shinier PC games.  And here we have me, little author here, not updating his novel.

  Irenicus:  Judas!

  Dislexic:  Yes indeed!  Minor concerns such as work, food and living have pushed aside my much greater importance of story writing.  But fear not, my two readers, for now that the dust has settled in my hectic life I have returned to the keyboard.

  Irenicus:  Returned, yes, but changed as I can see.  What happened to your tea?

  Dislexic:  I don't have a proper tea kettle I'm afraid.  Until I can afford one, I'll have to settle with the rum.

  Irenicus:  Ghah.  Kincaid never drank so much.

  Dislexic:  That's because the lucky bastard probably gets a review once in a while, unlike me.  Save, of course, for that it being by that wonderful Kaltia.  I'd just like to say "Thank you" for reading this fanfic once in a while.  

---------------------

  _Within without, evermore_

_with what is who we are_

_  In among, all around, ever near and far_

_We see we tell we hear and feel,_

_  and so we come to know_

_Our minds like flowers in sunlight_

_  yearning then to grow._

_  We are, we are, we must become_

_we are who we chose to be,_

_  But choices in our shortened lives_

_are ne're what at first they seem._

_  We cry, we mourn, our eyes run dry_

_we discern no more, truth from lie_

_  Until the day we justify_

_the blood spilled in the streets._

_  Our blades, our blades, by themselves are own_

_our will to guide them far since flown._

_  And evermore we shield ourselves,_

_lest the seeds of death be sown._

_  But wary be to all who shield themselves in times of war_

_For blind blades spill blood, too true_

_ yet know not what they fight there for._

_  Jered Kincaid _

_ The time past reckoning _

_ 1370 DR_

*****************

  Chapter 12

  Rook to King's Bishop.

    They say that some rangers can place their ear to the ground and hear the coming of troops of war.  They say that some druids can smell the coming of a storm.  They say that a wizard can sense weather or not a spell will fail before it ever gives any indication of doing so.  Perhaps Waterdeep would have done well to heed the advice of such wizards, druids and rangers.  It could have saved them.  Or perhaps it was that these precognitive abilities did not serve in any way, for there was no warning when the time came.  As a thief in the night, the drow slipped into the Jewel of the North.

  The first to die was a young man named Garbien Droshier.  It was his first year out of the academy, and with his halberd tightly clenched in his hands he was determined not to let down his superiors.  As the night waned on, Garbien whistled to pass the time, he also practiced what skills he had learned with his weapon.  Still, it was only a matter of time before his thoughts turned towards a little-known tavern girl who catered to the patrons of the Slaking Sailor, one of the newer taverns in the dock ward.  His errant mind was fully occupied on the thought of her full bosom when he noticed an odd, cold feeling in his chest.  

  It had been a cruel cut, one right where the windpipe meets the lungs.  The pain lasted long, but the boy could hardly sound an alarm.

  However, the drow were not so foolish as to supply pour out onto the streets and kill indiscriminately.  Only those who where in their way were slaughtered.  Their bodies disintegrated by the drow mages.  Soon thereafter, the wind took away the ashes.

  The Harlimberg estate was a formidable fortress where upper-class housing was concerned.  It sported a twenty-foot high fence with walls as smooth as glass.  There were always guards on the watch, and they were well-paid so as to not fall asleep in the night.  The master of the guard was a seasoned adventurer by the name of Craig Dowrenford.  A master with the longsword who taught his subordinates well for no less then two hours every day, this constant vigil was maintained at the Harlimberg estate because it was Lord Riginald Harlimberg's edict.  Even within the safety of the walls of Waterdeep, his home was his castle, and he would have it defended as such.

  The Harlimberg estate fell to the drow in about ten minutes.

*****************

  Vishiree's high-heeled boots made not a sound on the polished marble floor of the exquisite mansion.  With her flowing velvet robes, she appeared to be more of a solid shadow then the ambitious dark elf cleric she was.  Her red eyes glinted with the prospect of holding one of the most powerful "Human" settlements under the heel of her boot.  

  Her soldiers had done well to keep from being seen.  Despite their versatility, the drow would be no match against a well-prepared waterdhavian defense.  Timing was critical.  The city was covered with remote alert beacons, especially in it's underground, and bypassing them had been no easy task, not even for he power of Lloth.  Mystra's power was great as well, and it was her servant, Khelben "Blackstaff" Arunsun who had put them in place.  Like his goddess, he was no mean power to trifle with.

  Vishiree enjoyed an unpleasant smile at the thought of bringing him down.  Blackstaff, with all his power and his god-daughter wench by his side would fall before her, Vishiree the daughter of the twelfth house of Ched Nesan.  Before Lloth.  Mystra herself, so haughty and proud, being the being of pure magical energy will become a slave to the queen of spiders.  And Vishiree would be the one to make the move.

  "I estimate another twelve hours before we are discovered." Said Drieza's lovely voice when Vishiree came close.  Drieza was dressed in white.  Her gown was enamored with jewels and designs of beautiful roses.  The contrast between the colors of her dress, and the darkness of her blue-black skin was somewhat breathtaking.

  Vishiree glared disapprovingly at her subordinate's attire.

  "Is that a little optimistic?"

  Drieza shrugged her shapely shoulders. "What do you think?  I've seen this sort of thing before.  The missing bodies of the ones we killed will lead to a search, then more searching, then magical scrutiny.  At best…. Seven hours, and worst…. Days.

  Vishiree nodded towards the window. "And our security?"

  "In place."

  "The other points secured as well?"

  "I've received messages from the other teams, yes.  So far so good.  Waterdeep's military academy and soldier barracks are within easy striking distance."

   The conquering drow priestess of Lloth moved towards the window, taking a moment to gaze upon the splendor of the human city.  To her eyes, the most valued sculpture, the most prized jewel was nothing more then the work of a child - flawed, without perfection and deserving of destruction.  

  The moment passed, Vishiree once again regarded her lieutenant.  "And you?  What's the occasion?"

  Drieza made a sweeping bow.  Her elaborate and beautiful gown flowed in the air as though it were a part of it.  "This was in the wardrobe.  Don't you think it's beautiful?"

  The priestess scoffed. "That's most unbecoming of you, Drieza.  You should concern your mind with more important matters?"

  Drieza's eyes narrowed in a way that betrayed nothing.  Her smile tightened slowly.  "Harsh words coming from someone wearing sweaty robes and feet that haven't seen fresh air for a tenday."  Drieza took the opportunity to gaze into a nearby wall-hanging mirror.  "The fabric is really quite something.  These humans are not without their graces."

  "I would be more guarded about my thoughts if I were you, Drieza of no house worth mentioning."

  The exotic woman in white did not seem at all phased by the venomous insult.  "Eleven hours, thirty minutes, Mistress.  I'm sure we have more important matters to get to."

  "Indeed.  I was just thinking about our blue-haired friend.  He shouldn't be too far now, hmm?"

  Drieza nodded.

  Vishiree smiled unpleasantly.  "Let's make sure this little welcoming of yours works to perfection.  I don't want any unknown factors interfering."

  "I'll see to it myself."  In truth, Drieza was more interested in departing her surly Mistress' company then she was in arranging for the capture of Jered Kincaid.  Vishiree knew nothing of pleasure, carnal or otherwise.  She was only interested in power and glory.

  A catlike smile, most becoming of her took form on Drieza's lips.  Save for the normal, foreseeable differences that had occurred, everything had proceeded according to plan.  This afforded Drieza more then enough breathing room to set about her own personal plans.

  That catlike smile took a firmer hold.

************

  The Yawning Portal.

  Waterdeep.

   There are few taverns strewn about the wondrous waterdhavian city that had as much of a reputation as the Yawning Portal.  Although the tavern itself was average by the standards of a pub, stocked with mostly local favorites with such specialties as Elverquisst, and lately Rugeon blue, there are still stories of how this tavern played a pinnacle role during the Times of Troubles.  Even after the repair work, anyone could note the telltale signs of its involvement.

   This night was colder then what could be considered normal.  Fewer patrons left the comfort of their dwellings to bask in the aroma of spilled ale this night.  Perhaps it was the biting cold, or the howling that went with it.  Whatever the case, Waterdeep was most unwelcoming.

  "So did ye hear about Saradush?  Heard a giant the size of a tower just tore it up like it was nothing.  The whole city."  Kendel's attempt at small talk with Minera, the tavern wench met with more success this night then previously.

  The waiflike brunette shrugged once before handing the leather-clad ranger his mug.

  Kendel grinned before taking a sip.  "One of these days you'll speak to me."

  Minera responded with a raised eyebrow and the faintest hint of a smile.  She actually enjoyed this game they played, and was not averse to sharing his company every now and then, but enjoyed playing hard to get more so.

  "In fact, I'm willing to bet that before my days on this earth are done, you'll share a drink with me."  Kendel pressed, his charming smile in place.

  Minera closed her eyes and tuned away.  Her smile had grown, and she did not want him to see it.  

  The rugged ranger closed his eyes as he sampled the relaxing brew.  Reports had reached his ears that had far outweighed what he had heard of Saradush.  Calimport had shown more then the usual amounts of dead bodies, quite a feat at that.  The unruly southern city was well-known for its high crime rate.

  The sound of a chair being knocked over opened his eyes quickly enough.  No one had been near that chair, it looked as though it had just fallen over on it's own.  Kendel frowned, but would not let this detract him from his train of thoughts.  There were more important things to worry about.

  Naturally, he did not notice the invisible drow who had knocked the chair over - the drow who was making his way toward the back of the tavern.  Towards the hidden portal that had made this dive so infamous, 

**********

  Waterdeep.

  The front gates.

  The three companions were not bothered overmuch on their way inside the city.  The guards only gave them a quick search and let them continue.  Mertallo wasted no time in abandoning the other two to get in contact with some of his old friends.  He promised to meet them that night with whatever news he could get.

  "Well… we could try shopping?"  Kincaid nudged his lover, in an attempt to cheer her up.  Viconia had been mostly silent this day, much like he had been for the last three.

  "Hmph.  I doubt they have anything in my color."

  Kincaid chuckled.  "Surely no.  Not for one with such pale skin and raven black hair.  Such a rarity in these parts, it is."

  The elf smirked.  "A mask, my love.  Suppose a wizard sniffs me out and dispels your little cantrip work, hm?   Whet then?"

  "Pierce magic, then Greater Malison, then Flame Arrow on the wizard, Improved Invisibility on yourself, and a quick, hopeful prayer for my own ass."

  That made the dark elf laugh.  "You're sweet, but too merciful for your own good.  Why not summon a Planatar?  Or Dragon's breath?"

  "Ghah!  Hello?!"  Kincaid nudged her and pointed to the right.  "See yon tavern?  That's one of the best in the city!  Ao would never forgive if I laid waste to such a fine assortment of brew."

  "Poisoned, no doubt."

  "You're far too pessimistic."

  "One of us has to be."  Viconia said.  Her eyes narrowed in suspicion at the passerby peasants.  To her, they would always be a possible threat.  Though they saw her as a moon elf, because of Jered's magic, Viconia chose to take no risks.

  Her pale hand reached out to grip his.  "How's your head?"

  Jered smiled wearily.  "Is it obvious?"

  "Perhaps more so to me."

  "Hm.  I can deal with it.  But it…. It has intensified."

  Viconia frowned.  It worried her more then she cared to admit.  Normally it would not have crossed her mind twice, but it all seemed too coincidental.  Kincaid's sudden lack of magical power during their encounter in Bryn Shandar, the knowledge their enemies seemed to know of them and now this.  It reminded her of something she learned about when she was young.  The best way to wear down a large, powerful force was with subtlety.  

  Kincaid let out a little groan.

  "What is it?"

  He brushed away his shining dark blue hair with one shaky hand.  "I feel a pull; it's strong.  Or should I say stronger?  It's so gradual; I didn't feel it until now."

  Viconia looked around.  Her sharp elven eyes strained to find something.  When they did not, they returned to her lover.  "Can we trace it?"

  Kincaid paused, then nodded.  "Help me walk.  It's…. difficult."

  The wizard leaned heavily upon the slender drow, and the going was somewhat slow.  Once again, Viconia was thankful for the enchantment spell that enhanced her strength; she was not wearing her yeti-skin gauntlets. 

  "It's strong, almost tangible."  The wizard murmured.  Speaking had become difficult for him, the closer they got.

  It must have seamed odd - A tall, built man placing most of his weight on a pale, lightweight moon elf, pausing here and there to get their bearings and changing course.  Their path took from Addler lane, through the sea ward, back the way they came from, and finally dead in the middle of the Castle District.

  This worried the both of them.  The castle district was the center of Waterdeep when it came to who was in charge.  Caste Waterdeep, Blackstaff tower, Piegeiron's Palace to name a few were located closely in this one section.  

  "Viconia!"  Kincaid said suddenly, his hand gripped her shoulder tightly in a sense of urgency.

  "What is it?"  She said.

  "We should… go back."  His voice sounded very far away now.

  Viconia was not ready to give up, not when they were so close to their quarry.  "Are we close, can you feel where it is?"

  The wizard shook his head.  His tone sounded odd, as if he had gone deaf and could not modulate his voice properly.  "You don't understand.  I can't see you.  I can't even feel you anymore.  This was a bad idea."

  Kincaid stumbled and fell to his knees.  His hands went to his head and even as Viconia kneeled to help him, her hands alit with healing fire, he blacked out.  Then he was gone.

  The drow's eyes widened in shock and horror, her teeth gritted in defiance as her eyes burned holes in the ground where he had just fallen and subsequently disappeared.  Disappeared!  There was no trace of him.  It was as if he had been an image dispelled by the sun's rays like a fleeting shadow.  

  Franticly the elf searched the ground for some signs, some magical telltale trace of his disappearance.  Her black hands felt the ground intently.  Black!  When Kincaid disappeared, his enchantment on her was dispelled!  Viconia now bore her true form, that of a drow.

  Viconia heart jumped, and her eyes made a quick scan.  Standing around her were people, staring at her.  Many people.  People who would not simply stand by for long.

***********

  Waterdeep.

  Somewhere else

  All things considered, the day had gone better then planned.  True, not all of Mertallo's old friends were in town, or in good health, or living, but several were.  Danilo Thann had been helpful, more or less, but Ragnet Amcathran had been unavailable. This was most inconvenient.  The trail they had followed brought them to this point, thus far.  While the old mage had not been expecting to find a lot of answers down that venue, he had at least hoped to find some clues.

  All that Mertallo knew of Ragnet, he learned from Danilo, for he never really met the man in person.  To be truthful, he only happened to know Danilo through Khelben, "Blackstaff" Arunsun, a friend of his whom he had not seen or heard from ever since his travels to the north.  Mertallo made a mental note to check in on his old friend as soon as time permitted.  For the least of reasons, he should be informed of what was happening.

  Then he caught sight of him. Danilo, that is.  "There you are!"

  The bard spun on heel at the mage's voice.  "By Malliki!  How you do sound like my uncle.  A scary thought, that.  Though I'd thank you not to mention it to him—"

  "You're friend's gone."

  Danilo blinked.  "Ragnet?"

  "The same.  When's the last time you saw him."

  The blond-haired noble had to think about that one for a good moment or two.  "Now that it occurs to me, it must have been…. Oh…. A tenday at least since I saw him last.  Not that I've been staying in one place too long, mind you, so I took no note of his comings and goings."  

  Mertallo gritted his teeth in frustration quietly.

  "Well, you know how Ragnet is.  I'm sure he's just lost in some Calimshite harem, trying desperately to find his way home."  Danillo quipped, his usual, public façade taking over.

  "I suspect your friend is trying to escape wherever he is, that much I'm sure of."  Mertallo said soberingly enough, turned and started in the direction of the Castle Ward.

  "Now hold it there." The bard said and he started after him.  "You show up in town after years of being gone, off in one of the coldest nine hells there are, ask to see someone I know personally you've never met with the look of "Doom is coming, run while you can" etched into your wrinkled face" – Mertallo smiled at that thought, despite himself – "And now he shows up missing, the same look on your face, mind you…. Am I not getting something?"

  "What was your first clue?"

  Danilo pursed his lips as he thought of a witty remark, Mertallo beat him to it.  "the look of coming doom?  Yes, well there's no reason for me to repeat myself.  I'm going to see your uncle, come along and we'll all discuss it there.  I'll fill you in with what I can on the way."

  So with a quickening in his step, Mertallo did just that.  The bard grew more and more silent with each sentence.  At first making acknowledging inane little noises, then nothing as it became clearer to the usually cheerful man how grave the situation was.  To him, it was as if he were being informed that the world was going to end in half-an-hour.

  Mertallo continued walking and talking quickly enough to draw more then the needed amount of attention.  For this, the mage seemed to care not.  They were not more then five blocks from Blackstaff tower when they saw it coming: An angry mob chasing a no less angry drow female, who turned occasionally to hurl a spell or dodge a thrown item.  Blood streaked from her cheek and stained a few places on her matted white hair.

  Mertallo gasped, only slightly more shocked then his blond companion.  "Viconia?  What in the nine hells…?"  

---------------------------

(Next chapter, detailed instructions on how to alter BG2 WITHOUT a java editor!  And…. Some more progression on the story.  Yeah, that too.)

 I'll grant that most people don't write books while at work.  Well… I do!  Ha!  I'm awesome.  Check this out, my cube has it all.  A chair, a computer, a place to make tea!  I'm set!

  Man, I hate working here, though.  Sure, it makes me feel like a badass computer guru, but it depresses me to know how many computer users out there are complete idiots!

  Yeah, you've guessed it,  I work in tech support now.  I won't tell you where I work; I'll only give you a hint, saying it's a four-letter work that rhymes with HELL.

  The job has its perks, though.  The total lack of a dress code gives one the privilege to show up in boxers and a tie (nothing else) and fit in perfectly.  Sure, I stand out from the other techs; I haven't dyed my hair or pierced my body with glowing hot pokers, but no one gives me any flak.

  Ok, you don't care, I know.  I know what you're reading this section for anyway (not really, but I'll guess). The Rant.  Here it comes:

  Rant #2: Loss of the Lemons.

  LEMONS!  Those sweet-tasty-delicious lovingly written pieces of literature that serve the purpose of confirming to you that there really are people out there just as perverted as you (sicko).  We all have our reasons for reading them.  In the end, it's all the same thing.  We play a game, read a book, or play another game and while we do so, the thought comes to mind "Man… Lulu is one hot chick."  And of course you're right.  She is!  I won't go into details with the many things I'd do to her for hours on end if I ever got my hands on her (all three of her! ;-)  )

  So the next step comes into place:  Finding the lemon!  You look for a story where you can read of what someone ELSE had thought about, written down, and posted up regarding Lulu's delectable, well-endowed body.  Then you read, you perspire, and finally go grab a paper towel and make a quick trip to the bathroom to clean up.

  We've all been there.  And weather you admit it or not, we've all done it.  I mean, This is Lulu, we're talking about, the very essence of sensuality with quite a bit of maturity to boot.  Yuna just doesn't stand a chance, and Rikku's eyes freak me out.  Besides (as a friend of mine pointed out not too long ago) She's too much like Yuffie.  STEAL MY MATERIA, DIDJA BITCH?!?! 

  But back to the subject at hand.  These lemons served a good, valuable purpose for the sickly minded (SM) and Hormonally Over-Reactive Naturalistic Yeoman (HORNY).  Once this is known to the powers that be, the lemons are taken away!

  DAMN!  I, personally was about to write one or two myself.  Just imagine… the steamy romantic scenes between Kincaid and Viconia will never be revealed to my faithful reader(s).  Nor will this wonderful Link/Ruto fic I've been fantasizing about for some time.

  This is to say nothing about the thousands of Me/Lulu stories I've thought up.  Or even better, Lulu/Rinoa/Quistis/Me/More Lulu/Aries ultimate lemon marathon!

   Hehe, that would have been cool.

   DAMN FANFICTIO.NET for their hatred of lemons!  Where are they being posted now that they're gone from here?  Huh?  And I'm not talking about adult stories, they suck.  I'm talking about lemons made from game characters.  The best lemons there are!

  Okay, my rant is going on just a but too long, but that's understandable, really, considering how much I miss them.  So as I drink my tea with lemon juice, I give a moment of silence for all those lost stories of………. Stuff, never to be read again.  Lemon, my friend, here's to you.


	13. In the dark, there is perfume

Disclaimer:  Final Fantasy is an RPG; it's the RPG for me.  It's the only one I need.  Final Fantasy is all that I play.  All other games are lame; it puts them all to shame.  I only play games that are popular; I only buy games that the magazines tell me to buy.  That way I know I'll get good games, for sure.  You may think I have a shallow mind; well you can kiss my behind.

  In response to Vhalior's post;

Dislexic:  Okay.  Vhalior, I don't see you correcting too many Harvard English papers here.  Do I look like Harvard materiel?  Vhalior, When you came here and opened up my story, did you see a diploma on my wall that said "Harvard English Student?"

Vhalior:  Uhh…

Dislexic:  Did you see a diploma on my wall that said, "Harvard English Student?"

Vhalior:  No, I didn't.

Dislexic:  Do you know _why_ you didn't see a diploma on my wall that said "Harvard English Student"?

Vhalior:  no, why?

Dislexic:  Because it's not there, because studying English at Harvard isn't exactly what I do!  I sit down and I start typing, and I don't do grammar or spelling like a Harvard English student and that's okay!

  In response to Rikku's post;

  WellI'vealwaysbeenattractedtogirlswithpointedears,whitehairandjet-blackskin.  I'vealsohadasoftspotforgirlsthatweararmorandcarryswords.thosegirlsarethebest.ButIhavn'tseenanyaroundhere,sobigtitsandlurvpassionsoundgreattome!

  In response to Kaltia's post;

  What are you talking about?  Ruto's hot! Oh, and thanks for the input.  It's nice to get some positive feedback once in a while.  The same goes to all those others who reviewd my work.  See, I have no idea weather or not (check if out Vhailor!  I used to wrong version of  "weather" in a sentence.) my work is any good unless those who read it leave a message… or perhaps a long paragraph.  Occasionally, I get a short story for a review, and I just want to let you know that I do enjoy reading every one.

  Anyway, I'm continuing one with Chapter 13, here, and I may just end up posting the story on multiple places….. or online libraries.  The bulk of my stories are still based here, in Fanfiction.net.  not to say that I have a bulk of stories, or that any of this matters.

Irenicus:  Just a moment.  Now keeping in mind those of our readers who don't have the D&D rules memorized, you may want to explain a few things about the last chapter.

Dislexic:  Okay *sigh* Fine!  So what if I used the wrong "weather" in my sentence, really?  Who gives a damn?

Irenicus:  Uh.... I was talking about the events.

Dislexic:  That much I cannot reveal, not just yet.  I'm sure some readers are wondering as to the reason behind Kincaid's disappearance, or how it was done.  That much will be explained in this coming chapter, along with more of those never-ending author's notes.  I'd write more, faster, but you see I'm kind of busy.

Irenicus: And by busy you mean downloading all that manga from ezmanga.com, fearing the day when the site will go down for good?

Dislexic: Uh…. *innocent look* nope.  I just happed to have a job that eats up all of my time.  Hmm… doesn't this sound familiar?

Irenicus:  Actually it does.  Every other author uses that excuse.

  "_It's actually a rather interesting tale, that.  I'd tell it, but chose not to on the grounds that what I say may incriminate me."_

_  Jan Janson_

_  The hearing of Jered Kincaid_

  Business above grounds was not going as usual.  Fewer people ventured out of their homes then normal.  No one really knew why.  But many people suspected, and that was enough by far.  It was the same feeling you get when you are alone in your house and you don't feel alone.

  A presence.  Elusive, with no concrete evidence of it being there, yet you know.  Of course, there were those who, for one reason or another – be it stupidity or alcohol – remained blissfully unaware to this strangely unwelcoming feeling.

  Below the city, below the Harlimberg estate, Jered Kincaid felt more unwelcome then the lot of them.  Or perhaps worse, very welcome.

  The first thing Jered noticed was that his headache was gone.  The second was the web-like ropes that held his body in place.  The third was the eyes of the drow who looked upon him.  She was a lithe figure, and quite beautiful at that.  Her black skin was covered by a rather exquisite white dress that looked as though it could have been a wedding gown.  Her silky white hair reminded him of Viconia, as did her eyes.

  "Awake?"  The drow whispered.

  "….."

  "I'll take that as a yes."

  "What are you planning?"  Jered muttered.

  She looked a little disappointed as she approached.  The lithe drow took a seat on empty air, leisurely crossing her long, shapely legs.  Mage, Kincaid through to himself, or cleric.

  "And here I was hoping we could have an intelligent conversation…"

  Kincaid looked up.  "What?

  "Your question was so painfully typical, my dear male.  You are now our prisoner, so you ask what any prisoner would ask of his captor.  Could you not be a little more creative?  I've heard this all before, believe me."

  Kincaid actually smiled at that.  Even in this dim light, he could see the sharp features of her face.  She had a shrewd look.  Intelligent, Kincaid noted.

  "I've been waiting a long time to meet you, and here you are."

  Kincaid straightened as much as the ropes would allow, bringing him to a kneeling position.  "How did you bring me here?"

  "How do you think?"

  "Your not one to just give me the answers, are you?"

  The drow smiled sweetly, but said nothing.

  "It was the sword, wasn't it?  That part of the enchantment that I could not figure out, it was to dull my wits."

  She nodded.  "Vishiree was more inclined to take you by force.  That was my idea."

  "Rather well executed, at that."

  "Thank you."

  Kincaid subtly began testing the bonds that held him.  The ropes were like webs, sticking to his skin as the wrapped around him.  They were as strong as silk, and Kincaid knew that even his unnatural strength would not tear them.

  "And here I thought I was walking into a nest of illithids."

  She leaned toward him.  Her eyes glinted with mischief.  "You're smarter then you know."

  "Don't tell me.  You enchanted to sword with the help of such a creature?"

  "Indeed."

  "I had concluded that those weapons were mass-produced for the cannon-fodder."

  The drow nodded quickly. "We made several of them, but not as many as you think."

  "And the fact that they are of Amcathran make?"  Kincaid pressed.  "What of that?"

  The stunning drow female yawned mildly.  "Surely the great child of Bhaal has more on his mind then that.  Really, Jered, you seem to be too occupied with trivial matters rather then what you should be doing."

  "And that is?"

  The drow elf leaned back.  She re-crossed her long legs and tossed an errant lock of silky white hair back.  To her, the human was as base as he was a mystery.  Aside from his appearance and hair color, he would seem no different from the rest of the rivven they had firmly placed under their heel on the surface above.  She was not so easily fooled that that, however.  Kincaid had toppled foes far greater then she when the odds were very much against them.  He was a tactician, this human.

  "You're smart, human, I'm sure – Despite Vishiree's belief to the opposite..  What situation are you in?"

  Kincaid nodded, taking up her queue.  He analyzed.  Her, this place, the time, - he reviewed what information he currently had.  The drow female had mentioned the name Vishiree in the terms that she was an associate.  Further, the fact that he was still alive alluded to the possibility of escape.  He would have to be ready.  Kincaid's mind calculated wildly the possible methods and contingencies, the scenarios played over in his mind upon the limited knowledge that he had.  A part of him wondered if escape was what she meant to tell him secretly.

  "Who are you?"

  The drow smiled like a cat and dipped her head.  "You may call me Drieza."

  "A pleasure, Drieza.  May I ask why you're not yet torturing me?"

  That made her giggle.  The drow stood then, and approached.  Her hips swayed subtly.  Not for the first time did Kincaid wonder as to what she intended to do with him.  She ran one silky smooth hand down his bare chest, halting at his waist as her glowing red eyes burned holes at him.  "Would you prefer that?"

  Her scent wafted into his lungs.  It smelled good, he had to admit.  For whatever reason that was beyond him, Drieza was actually offering herself to him – Or at least teasing, and she was alluring.  Kincaid closed his eyes and brought to mind the promising image of Viconia.

  "Yes."  He hissed, with some effort.

  Her hand stilled, then left his skin.  "Ah, yes.  Viconia was her name, hm?  The female that helped you crush Ust Nautha.  So, she has you wrapped around her finger, does she?"

  Kincaid bit back a sharp reply, instead saying simply, "What do you think?"

  He expected a much harsher reaction then what he received.  Drieza actually seemed pleased by his response.  She leaned closer to him.  "I think you're just being coy… or foolish.  That's disappointing.  I would have thought the one, only surviving child of Bhaal would be a lot more bold then this"

  "Perhaps how bold I am when I speak relates to my situation."

  Drieza chuckled.  "Oh, so now you think you're smart."

  "What do you think?"

    Drieza turned and walked away.  Kincaid did not see the door that she opened.  He could not even see the walls of his cell, and in his mind he only had a limited mental image of what it looked like.  From what he could tell, he was secured upright on a raised platform of some sort.  Large teeth-like pillars stood on three locations encircling the platform.  

  The one ambient light source for the entire room glowed from directly above him.  The light seemed to be angled just right so that he would be illuminated in the light, but other objects outside of his immediate circle of vision were not.

  These things did not worry Kincaid so much as the deep sense of emptiness inside him.  It was a cold, lonely feeling wizards rarely feel, but it was one only a wizard could truly appreciate.  For as hard as he tried, Kincaid could not pull a single spell to mind.

  Jered Kincaid, the mighty Kensai Mage and child of Bhaal was completely without magic.

  "What have ye done now?"

  The three friends ran headlong down the cobbled road.  The mob of angry peasants was not too far behind them.  Though the three of them with all their magical power would prove more then a match for the simple citizens, it was decided that wholesale slaughter of the people of Waterdeep would not be in their best interest.  This fact was protested by Viconia, but she was outvoted one to four, since Danilo counted himself twice.

  An airborne stone struck the hapless elf on her shoulder, causing her to stumble and then fall.  The mob wasted no time in overcoming her as she rolled back up and got to her feet, deft as she was.  A burly, bearded peasant man was upon her first with a club in hand.  His swing was too slow – Viconia scrambled out of range and then swung her flail, arching forward enough to catch his weapon arm.  The man's bones cracked and broke from the impact.  His skin then burst at the wound into a bloody mess of pitted and half-eaten flesh as the acid took effect.

  Neither to rest of the mob, nor the elf waited around to view the spectacle the man made as his viewed his ruined limb.  Viconia was running at full tilt within a heartbeat, and the mob was hot in pursuit.

  "That was close," Said the bard.  His hands went to work while he ran, trying desperately to shape a spell.  The bard stumbled, however, and the magic dissipated into an azure display of bright, quickly fading smoke.

  Mertallo was more experienced with casting on the run.  The old mage turned and pointed his finger at the approaching mob.  Up from the ground rose a writhing mass of black tentacles.  Some held on to the hapless peasants, other bludgeoned those that struggled.

  "Ah-Ha!"  the old mage cheered victoriously.  "Now let us be off.  We must hide."

  "We should see my uncle," The bard suggested, "but we cannot simply bring a drow to the gates of Blackstaff tower with everyone looking.

  "I can fix that."  Mertallo said.

  "So can I." the elf grumbled, darkly enough.

  "No!"  Both the mages said at once.

  Several peasants began to break free of the tentacles, their clothes torn in many places.  Most bore fresh bruises, some had a broken bone or two, all were very much irate.

  Danilo turned and frowned at them, "This is not going to do my reputation well."  With a sigh, the blond bard crafted a spell of darkness and aimed it straight at the lead man.  A globe of darkness engulfed the area where his head was, and then immediately expanded to engulf the narrow street.  The shouts of anger soon turned to ones of confusion, and then of coughing and vomiting when Mertallo followed up with a spell of his own, flooding the darkened area with a stinking cloud spell.

  "That'll take the fight out of them."  Mertallo said with a whistle.

  Viconia eyes burned with silent anger at the globe of darkness.  "They deserve far worse."

  Danillo regarded her with concern.  "My dark lady, so far I have heard only good things about you.  Do you really believe what you say?"

  The elf paused, her gaze dropped. "No… I'm just.  It all happened so fast.  Kincaid disappeared and then they... they make me so angry."

  "Disappeared?"  Danillo queried.

  "Yes," She hissed.  "like he teleported, or was summoned – he said he felt dizzy then he dropped and faded right there in my arms."

  Mertallo put a firm hand to Viconia's shoulder then.  "In a moment, lass.  We'll need an explanation from you in a moment.  First we must get ourselves to Blackstaff tower.  We'll sort this out.  

  "Quite right, well said," Perked Danilo, "Might I suggest that we do so now, before yon mob vomits over our respective clothes?  I can't speak for you, but I did not ward mine against bile."

  Beneath the City.  Gods know where.

  Minsc' mighty Rashamen head, despite or perhaps because of its cracks, throbbed with an aching like the man had never before felt.  It was as if the drow had lit a bonfire in his head to which they alternately threw water, and then fuel on to.  He felt fine otherwise, safe for the uncomfortable feeling of restraint the web-like ropes gave him.  Looking up from his sitting position, he saw another figure sitting against the opposite wall, similarly chained as he was.

  Minsc was about to ask a question when the sounds of footfalls reached his ear.  Soon the cell door opened – there was something familiar about the shape of that door – and therein entered two people.  One was a red-robed sorceress, the other a drow warrior carrying a heavy burden.  The burden Minsc soon recognized as Imoen.

  "Ghah!  Release me so that I might smash and liberally crush the evil that has done this to my friends and I."

  The woman wringed her hands.  "I think he used a complete sentence that time.  Good.  Very good.  Maybe we could get him to work.  This one doesn't.  We'll have to change some parts or something."

  The drow warrior wisely kept his mouth shut.

  Minsc was not so wise.  "Release me, foul woman clothed in the foul stench of evil… and red!  Otherwise, Boo will bite you in places most people do not want to be bitten in!"

  "Oh?  Who Boo?  Boo who?"

  "Not boohoo – though I am sad to be chained up again.  It's Boo!  All should fear the righteous wrath of Minsc and Boo!  And Sword too!  Sword speaks for Minsc sometimes."

  That made the insane woman laugh.  Not a pleasant laugh, but one she enjoyed, "And does Minsc speak for himself?  Or does his rat and sword do all the talking?"

  The Rashaman puffed up his chest and pulled hard at the unyielding ropes.  His struggles were to no avail.  It seemed to be made of spider silk, and although Minsc was not underdark denizen, he knew how strong that would make them.  He growled in frustration.  "When dealing with evil, nothing else but swords need to do the talking."

  "Does it sing too?"  The woman in red did not wait for a reply, but turned to her companion.  "Tie her down there.  Wash her feet."

  The male gave an incredulous look, nodded, keeping his comments to himself.  Most male drow learn to do that early in life.

  "As for you, ugly painted man!  You're addled mind and addled hamster and your addled little limp sword with impurities all run through like river water on a hot day that addles the mind because the sun is too hot, it burns deep!  Pull on the ropes and strain hard, but you never drag it up, never.  It falls down, and yours goes with it.  Into the fire, for it would be no better."

  This time Minsc said nothing.

  For a moment, the woman just stared at the huge berserker, her fit dying down.  Then something seemed to flicker in her eyes.  Like a brief moment of sanity or understanding quickly flushed away by horrors unknown.  Horrors only a woman could understand.  Regardless, there it was, brief though.

  "You…. You look like me."

  Now Minsc was not a man who went out of his way to understand things, even the simplest of which that slip through his grasp.  "Eh, I don't understand what you mean, but Boo is suspicious."

  The woman snorted.  "Hamster speak.  It's only your head.  My name is Linira.  We'll play later."

  Linira jerked her head to one side, now looking at the cell's other occupant, besides Imoen.  "Here mouse!  A hamster for you, you two will get along.  You both smell like pepper.  Rangers, all!"

  She threw her hands up in disgust and walked out, taking her insanity with her.  The drow warrior followed suit.

  Left alone in the darkness, Minsc wondered at what she meant by her final words.  The thought mice crawling all over the cell did not bother him much, unless they were rats.  Rats seemed to not get along with Boo too well.  Minsc shuddered at the thought.

  "Well," The voice of Valygar spoke out from the darkness, "We've been much worse off for wear. 

  Minsc looked up, but his human eyes could not see in the darkness.  "Oh, My friend and comrade, Valygar!  They've killed you and made you a floating voice!  This is a sad day for all Rangers."

  Valygar was about to argue Minsc' hypothesis, but only sighed, knowing the futility.  "Then again, perhaps we have not."

  Not too much progression with this chapter, just a few scenes.  I'm sorry about that, but I felt the need to update my story like hell.  I mean, C'mon Me!  It's been about 6 months since my last chapter update.  I'm pretty bad, huh?  Damn this work, and the need to earn a living.  Why can't I just have a job that I love to do…. Like write books or something.  I could like… get paid to write books, and then people would pay me so that I would keep writing and like…. Buy me food and feed it to me, and bring me my jack & coke and maybe rub my shoulders while I type… or talk to me and give me ideas… or take long walks on the beach with and spend nights by the fire…

  Okay, so enough happy thoughts.  I don't believe enough people in the world now about my new awesome PC.  I just built it myself, with some help from another tech friend of mine.  I got a soyo p4x400 motherboard in an antec server chassis, a 2.533 proc, 7hundred something megs of memory and 180 gigs of hard drive space in a raid array along with a ti4600 video card.  It's pretty sweet for only having to spend 800 dollars for the piece parts.  I installed window 2000 advanced server myself (with some help from a tech friend of mine.  Did I mention also the 5.1 speakers and the 19 inch pureflat monitor?  No?

  Well, my PC just plain rules!  It's the one PC to RULE THEM ALL!  This is gonna be so cool.

  I think I'll make my own site, on my own server, and post up some of my stories there.  Like maybe some LEMONS! ……………………………… maybe not.  But maybe so….. 

  One last note.  I'll put in those BG2 directions in my next chapter.


	14. Die Schatten des Kriegs

Disclaimer: You are not your job; you're not how much money you have in the bank.  You are not the books you write, you are not the cubicle you sit at.  You're not your tea addiction!   You are the all-supporting all-stressing tech of the world!

 Dislexic:  I have trouble typing with the keyboard I have at work, I keep making so many mistakes it's not funny.  This never happens at home.

  Irenicus:  Sounds like workplace syndrome.

  Dislexic:  Is there a cure?

  Irenicus:  Well, I got around it by decorating my workplace with the bodies of the elves of Suldenessellar.  Made me feel more at home.

  Dislexic:  Ah!  So if I go out and hunt down the people I support over the phone, kill them and bring their body parts back to work to decorate my cube, it will brighten the place up?

  Irenicus:  I guarantee you will feel far more at ease with a few heads on pikes.  They serve as a firm reminder to you of he power you have over every whiny, computer-illiterate "I want what I want now because I'm a paying customer and I'm smarter then you" ID10Ts out there.

  Dislexic:  You've done tech support before, haven't you?  Anyway, I guess I'd better announce my new website!  Yet another product of my over-abundant spare time (that's sarcasm dripping from that sentence).  It's under constant revision and construction, so it's not done yet.

  You know what sucks about having your own server?

   Nothing!

  In response to Kaltia's post,

  Congratulations!  You are the first person to review this chapter.  You get a special prize of….. Hmm…. Well, I poem or something.  Anyway, I have this phobia about Humans.  You see, normal people scare me.  Also, they're very hard to get along with; Human females all have attitude problems. However, every anime I've seen with alien females in it all seem pretty easy-going, even when they're brandishing their multi-pronged weapons of mass probing at you.  Besides, Ruto is human enough if you take away the fins, gills, blue skin, aquatic environment and add some hair and maybe… MAYBE some clothes, but that's optional.

  Besides, ever seen Reboot?  You know… that computer-animated show on Toonami?  AndrAIa was quite the fish herself, but she was known to be hot.

-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-

  _All love, all trust is foolish.  Or so I thought._

_  If my sisters could see me now they would flay the skin off my back for being so weak.  Or would they?  Would they rather be envious?  In the past year I have come to question more and more the things I used to know.  These things I know no longer.  I once _knew _that I could live peacefully by myself and be completely content._

_  Now I no longer know that.  What I do know is that I would not be content to live alone._

_  To never let another close to you is strength, and not only that, but it is sheer protection against betrayal.  How many times have I been betrayed because of trust?  I do not have the heart to count the times.  I have lived many years, and the law that a drow cannot know trust or love was been thoroughly beaten into me.  I, in turn, have beaten that into the flesh of others when they seamed to forget.  I have seen with my own eyes, and felt all too painfully the results of what happen when I let my guard down.  To love; to trust is foolish.  It is weak._

_  Even now I do not deny that I may be weak to love, so.  What is different is that I acknowledge that I would have it no other way.  I would rather be weak; I would rather be empty without Kincaid, meaningless without him near and in pain without his love.  I prefer it like that; I choose to be so weak.  The rewards are far better, I have found.  What my drow sisters and brothers do not know is that these humans, these strange confusing rivvel enjoy a feeling we never allow ourselves to know.  _

_Viconia DeVir_

_Personal records._

-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-

  Blackstaff tower.

  "Here we are."  Mertallo said with a small sigh.  The three stood no more then ten meters from the imposing, windowless tower that was the home of two of the most powerful mages in the realms.  The trip would have been hazardous with the angry mob and all if it were not for the magical ring Danilo possessed.  It was one that could teleport himself and up to two other people to any location he had previously visited once per day.

  Now they were safely inside the walls of the tower.  If anyone had seen them disappear, that is all they would have seen.  

  "Let's not waste time.  Come."  Mertallo motioned to the others to follow him to the entrance, but Viconia was hesitant.  From her point of view, the one man she trusted was gone, and for all she knew, Mertallo blamed her.  She was drow, after all.  

  Mertallo turned when he noticed she was not following him.  "What is it?"

  The drow bit her lip.  If that wasn't enough, this Blackstaff person would be a threat to her if this did not go well.  Damn it all, it was already not going well!  Kincaid was missing and she was not.  When they had seen her after parting, she was being chased by a bloodthirsty mob.  Viconia knew neither Mertallo nor Blackstaff would be easily convinced of her side of the story.

  "I…  "

  Mertallo furrowed his brow at her, "What lass?

  The dark elf closed her eyes; her hand gripped the handle of the Flail of Ages.  Yet another thing Kincaid had made for her.  It was a reassuring feeling for the troubled drow.

  "I did not do it.  I would never do anything to him."

  "No one is accusing you of anything-"

  "-Yet."  Viconia broke him off, her eyes open again.  "You don't know me, Mertallo.  You know that I am drow.  I don't know a thing about you, or you, sir Thann, or Blackstaff here except that you are human.  I hope you can understand my situation."

  She took a step backward.

  Mertallo help of a hand as if to stop her.  "Viconia now is not the time for this.  You're right, we don't know each other, but I knew Jered.  I knew him very well.  He was young and headstrong, sometimes rash and easily provoked.  But he was also wise and decisive.  He would not trust you without reason."

  "You are not he, Mertallo.  I know you do not trust me.  You have been suspicious of me, you know that well."

  The old mage nodded, "That much I do not deny.  But listen:  Kincaid trusted you with his life and if I knew nothing else about you that would be enough.  Believe me; I'm not making any premature judgments here."

  Viconia looked up at the looming tower.  To her it looked like a prison, or a harbinger of death for her at the hands of a powerful human wizard.  She squeezed the handle of her flail tightly.  This was all happening so fast.

  Then there came a voice - deep, strong and laden with authority. "Are they always this rude?  Standing around in people's backyards and such?"

  Danillo turned to greet the man who had spoken – A man who no one noticed was there - and spread his hands in a helpless gesture.  "Well, uncle, you know that with the uncertainty of the world and all, we can't simply stand around in the streets - A hazard I was just recently reminded of."

  Khelben "Blackstaff" Arunsun hid his smile.  "Indeed.  By Mystra, Mertallo!  You must have a spell trigger set to alert you of trouble.  You never delay in digging yourself into it!"

  "Some of us don't live forever.  We can't wait for trouble to come to us," Said Mertallo with a wink. "We… we have a situation here.  It is something we thought you should be made aware of."

  Khelben nodded, but his eyes were on Viconia, and hers were likewise locked with his.  Behind her back, her black knuckles gripped the flail handle tightly.  It was a rare occasion when fear would grip her so, but when it was all said and done, this was a strange place to her.  The people were no less strange.  Putting her trust in them as she did Kincaid was no easy task; she could not so easily cope with it.  

  "Indeed.  Bringing a dark elf to my door, to say nothing if simply being in Waterdeep is a situation in itself."

  "Uncle, this _is the safest place, you realize."  Danilo interjected._

  "I'm not arguing that."  Blackstaff nodded.  A moment passed and he then stopped regarding Viconia.  The powerful wizard made a motion towards his Tower.  "Well then, Inside.  Let's have it.

  The dark elf cleric slowly took another step backward.

  The old mage looked back to her.  He sighed.  "Listen, Viconia.  No one is going to make any rash moves here."  He looked back to Blackstaff as one would look to a friend in commanding way.  "Right Blackstaff?"

  He nodded.  "Wouldn't have it.  You have my word.  If you wish, you can examine my magically to see weather or not I am lying."

  Viconia raised an eyebrow to that invitation, but then shook her head.  "No."

  Blackstaff again motioned toward his tower.  "Then will you come inside?"

  The dark elf closed her eyes, briefly.  She called several spells to mind, should these humans prove treacherous, and strode forward.

*-*-*-*-*-*-*

  Harlimburg Estate.

  Basement chambers.

  Zenissan Krel'ar'burg knew how to survive when there were those who would seek to kill him.  He had been the weaponsmaster of a house in Menzobarranzan.  A house not worth mentioning, as it is spoken.  Perhaps they considered it that even when the house stood.  A house not worth mentioning, true, but not one not worth destroying.  To add insult to injury, it had been done by a house that was in no real way threatened by his - A powerful house.  

  Such was the way of the drow.

   Power and the will to use it were not the only two things the drow knew, however.  Survival was an aspect every dark elf learned early on.  Zenissan was no exception.  In fact, it could be said that he was a better survivor then any other Drow in Menzobarranzan.  He had survived during the worst of situations and somehow found himself in a place where he could wield power again.  That is, as much power as a drow male of his status could be allowed.

  Not for the first time, Zenissan felt bitter at that thought.  Life would have been better for him if he were born female, or at least with a lighter skin shade!  Indeed he had heard a little of the life people lived on the surface.  That is where males have power.  Despite all the anger and hatred years of living in a drow society had bred into him, the dark elf felt some sense of envy for his light-skinned cousins on the surface.

  The drow swordsman thought almost wistfully of what kind of life these hated pale-skinned elves lived.  He had heard the horror stories as a child in Melee-Magthere.  Then he saw it for himself during a surface raid in the Dalelands.  He knew even before that what he had been told were lies to fuel his hatred for the surface-dwellers.  What he saw was amazing.  In those few moments before he and his brothers slaughtered the innocent elves, he saw how they lived and was amazed.  It was that alone that made him hate them.

  "Copper for your thoughts."  Spoke a sultry voice.  Drieza had a bad habit of sneaking up on him.  In the past, she would use her magic to remain undetected while she snuck behind him, to reach around and startle him by grabbing hold of parts of his anatomy.  Her interest in him had since cooled.

  The male immediately knelt with his head bowed.  That behavior, Drieza knew, had been well beaten into him.

  "Stand, male.  You may look at me."

  Zenissan did as he was told.  Drieza did not have to prompt him to speak, he knew better then to wait for one.  "What did you mean?"

  Drieza made a slight shrug.  "It's a human expression.  What's on your mind?"

  Zenissan frowned.  "Why do you wear that dress?"

  Drieza scoffed.  "What?  Do you think it is something you would understand?"

  The drow male recoiled.  "Perhaps you're right."  Then in a low voice he added.  "Just between us, I think it suits you."

  The female's lips half-curved into a small hint of a smile.  "The dress?  Or the fact that I wear it?"

  "The latter."  He answered.

  Drieza nodded and brushed a lock of silky white hair away from her undeniably beautiful face.  "It does, doesn't it?  Now why don't you tell me what you're really thinking before I spell cast it out of your head."

  Zenissan knew she was not serious, or at least he fondly hoped not.  "Well, let's just say that I look forward to what little rewards I may have in store."

  The female smiled darkly and decided to test him.  "You think you're worthy of a reward, male?  Why should there be any spoils for slaves when they know that their reward is one more day of life for the work they do for their betters?"

  Zenissan did not let his expression become bitter, much to his credit.  He meekly returned to a kneeling state before the beautiful dark elf.  "No reason, that is true enough."

  There was no hostility in his voice, or position, but Drieza knew him better.  Walking past him now, she smacked the side of his head.  Not too hard, but not too gently either.  Zenissan grit his teeth, but said nothing.

  Just as he should.

  Vishiree entered the small antechamber just then.  Adorned in the practical, non-reflective armor that best suits a drow – lightweight and flexible for easy spellcasting yet tough on the outer layers to prevent slashing and piecing weapons from getting through – she seemed an army to herself by appearances.

  "Drieza, Zenissan, prepare.  We have precious little time left.  After sunset, we must move quickly to take the city.  Korgan will lean the surface assault on the watchmen," Vishiree took pleasure in the pained look that crossed Zenissan's face.  How it must gall him to be passed up for a surfacer!  Her mind was set, however, and Korgan was the stronger fighter in addition to being more easily expendable.  "I have a special assignment for you, Zenissan.  The last thing we need is to have their nosey clerics try to devine out our location as we attack.  When we begin, you will go into the temples and dispatch as many as you can… alone."

  Zenissan's eyes widened for but a moment.  Clerics and wizards were easy enough to kill in good circumstances, but everyone knew that if there's one thing more dangerous then a human magic-user, it was a human magic user forewarned.  This was quite the suicide mission.  Zenissan was wise enough to respond in the customary way any male should.  "As you wish, mistress."

  "I did not give you permission to speak!"  Vishiree flared.  "But I shall let it pass this time, male.  Drieza, as for you…. Are you planning on wearing that?"

  Normally, the sultry drow would have laughed, but around Vishiree she quickly became withdrawn and introspective.  Zenissan was not surprised by the change.  Vishiree had that effect.

  "I am here to serve, for the glory of Lloth.  If I might make a suggestion…" Vishiree nodded, indicating for Drieza to continue.  "I might better serve staying here tonight."

  Vishiree's eyes narrowed.  "How so?  We need a mage in the field now more then ever!"

  The beautiful female bowed her head.  "If I may, mistress?  The mad one will be more then capable of taking my place."

  The dark elf leader raised an eyebrow.  "She _is human, you realize."_

  "Humans have a habit of gaining great power very quickly.  She will not disappoint you."

  "That's not what concerns me, Drieza.  What concerns me is that we are finding ourselves using too much a diverse force.  Human against humans, so you see what I'm getting at?"

  "She does not know the difference."  Drieza returned smoothly.  "If you look into her eyes you would know what I mean.  And if I may… she is not human either."

-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-

  Blackstaff Tower.

  Just before sundown.

  Viconia stood with her back to a wall, though no one was near her to corner her there.  She did not trust them anyway.  This wizard – this Human wizard Khelben Arunson who's power was comparable to Kincaid's, he could destroy her the first moment he considered her a threat.  Any why not?  She was a drow, and not one with Drizzt's paladin-like reputation.  The city was being subverted by drow.  Clearly, she was not to be trusted.

  Despite Mertallo's reassurances, that fact could not be erased.  She would not believe it.

  On the far side of the room, one decorated rather lavishly for being in a wizard's tower, sat the three mages as they veritably talked over each other.  Mertallo, now dressed in a finely embroidered red robe with golden runes and white sleeves with red runes, had told the story with a few words as possible.  Everything after that was one streaming conversation that did not seem to have a single break.

  Danillo contented himself with sampling his uncle's fine wines, in moderate amounts of course.  He read some passages off Blackstaff's "beginner" level spellbooks and made notes on a separate piece of paper every now and then.  Although he was not about to tell his uncle, he had actually started to consider being his successor as he had offered.  Only briefly, though.

  As the time wore on, and having no interest in joining the conversation – letting Mertallo do the talking for her after she had explained her part - Viconia eventually conceded to the point of sitting down.  She was exhausted, despite herself.  Both emotionally and physically she felt drained and restless at the same time.  Her thoughts stayed constantly on Kincaid.  She thought back to the first days they knew each other.  They had fought a lot with each other, most of them she started.  Interestingly, looking back she saw that there were many arguments he let her win, even if she was wrong, rather then carrying on the pointless debates.  Others he would not bend on, being incredibly stubborn.

  She loved that about him.

  She thought again of the first time they kissed.  It made her laugh.  What a comical sight it must have seemed to anyone who would have looked.  She had him cornered, so to speak.  They where in an alley in Athkatla and his back was against a wall.  They were arguing about some stupid subject she had brought up, she did not even remember it.  He said something she did not like and she slapped him, hard.  He then did something she would never have anticipated.  He slapped her back.  She flailed at him after a moment of shocked silence, but he captured her hands in an attempt to calm her.

  She had meant to bite him and was not entirely sure why she did not choose to just kick him instead.  It would have been more logical.  Instead she lurched forward; teeth bared, and kissed him.  Fiercely, at that.  Kincaid stumbled backward in surprise and tripped over something, hitting his head hard and the ground and disturbing a small surface animal she was not familiar with in the process.  The animal made a fuss neither of the two wanted to contend with and so they scrambled away, sharing a few half-hearted insults for the sake of posterity.

  Viconia still remembered the way he looked with his hair tussled and this lower lip bleeding.  Those memories gave her comfort, but she wanted to make more memories.

  "Introspective?"

  Viconia started quickly.  She had not heard Danilo approach.  "Where did you come from?"

  "Right over there."  Danilo said with a nod towards the bookcase.  He had some much better replies, but knew enough to know that this drow was in no mood for sarcasm.  The bard took a seat at a respectful distance from the brooding elf.  "Listen, we haven't been properly introduced.  My name is Danilo Thann."

  He placed a glass filled with dark-covered liquid before.  She looked at it with suspicion.

  "It's not wine."  Danilo said.  "Or poison for that matter.  It's actually lemon tea with honey.  Sometimes when I am pensive it helps to relax."  

  The elf hesitantly accepted the glass, not taking her eyes from the human.  She knew it was not poisoned.  Silently she scolded herself.  Her fears may not be unfounded, but they weren't really all that necessary either.  Ever since what happened in Berogost she was like that.  "Viconia… As I'm sure you've heard."

  "Yes.  About that… you may be surprised to know that your name is spoken well of in some circles."

  The drow snorted in derision.

  "I'm serious!  Did you expect to do good deeds and get away with it?  People notice!"

  Viconia laughed.  "What would you know?  I travel with one who destroyed Saradush, the murderer of harpers and invader of elven cities.  Isn't that what you hear about us?  No, Sir Thann, I'm sure I have an accurate description of my reputation - mine and Kincaid's both."

  Danillo looked a little taken aback.  "You are as pessimistic as you are difficult to please, my dear."

  The elf cleric sipped the tea.  It was surprisingly good - Not at all strong, but quite soothing.  "The former is true, that much is certain."

  The human leaned a bit forward, resting his elbows on his knees with his hands laced in front of him.  "All of that false information is being cleared up.  There are people who's lives you've affected.  They are working very hard to see to it that the truth of things comes out.  It has already been officially documented as to who was really responsible for Saradush.  The other events will follow soon follow."  For once, Viconia was actually beginning to listen.  It seemed like false comfort, coming for an untrustworthy stranger, yet she listened nonetheless.  "You know, my dear, it's not like you are the first drow ever to live on the surface.  Acceptance will come with time."

  Viconia held the glass under her lips, her eyes closed as she inhaled the soothing aroma.  "I don't want their acceptance; I want to be left alone."

  "That also comes with acceptance."  

  Viconia frowned at his optimism.  "Where were you half an hour ago?  I recall I was running for my life from these people who would, as you say, accept me."

  The blond bard dipped his head in acquiescence.  "Too true, sadly.  There has to bee a start somewhere, would you not say?  And if I may make an example, my lady, your relationship with Kincaid as it stands now is something like proof of that."

  "Good point.  However it was different with us.  He and I may have been at odds before, but he did not judge me outright.  He accepted me from the beginning."

  Danilo raised his hand, as if making a toast.  "Well, that's a start, is it not?"

  "It's too much work."

  "It doesn't have to be, and the rewards just might be worth it.  I've heard - although I'm not quite sure of this - that we humans aren't really all that bad sometimes."

  Viconia smiled unpleasantly.  "I haven't the heart to argue."

  She regarded him in a new light after that being said.  Perhaps it wasn't what he said but how he said it.  This human had previously given her the impression that he was a fop, a rich fool, a spoiled young noble with no real experience to back whatever claims he would make.  Now she saw that what she saw was an act, an illusion.  This human, this Danilo Thann was quite perceptive.  Looking at him now, his grey eyes seemed oddly shrewd.

  Why a human would go out of his way to appear foolish to others was beyond her. Or was it?  Some drow would construct such a façade, why not them as well?  Viconia was still getting used to not judging the lot of humans like so many animals.  Old habits die hard.

*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*  

  Waterdeep in general.

  Sundown.

  They came from every direction.  Like water rising up to flood a land from below, they came.  They were as dark as oil with the speed of quicksilver and the grace of black cats.  They came up from the sewer grates, out of the doors of their captured houses and some just appeared from no discernable direction.  It was so well-organized, so well-executed that it took nearly a half hour for any sort of resistance to form.

  The soldiers of the city, the city watch were the primary targets.  Dark figures rushed to overtake them.  Many were taken alone with no chance of fighting back.  Many were slaughtered without ever seeing the face of their attackers.  The attack was going well.

  Some soldiers did not die so quietly, and cries of alarm were raised in one segment after another.  Soon the alarm spread and the remaining soldiers rallied.  Fear stuck the citizens, panic spread and that is where the real slaughter began.

  With panic comes disorder, chaos.  Above all, the drow where a chaotic race.  This was what they lived for.

  Dark elf soldiers charged through the hordes of frightened humans, blades leading.  Peasants fell left and right, young as newborn babes and old as withered crones, they fell.

  "This is madness," Shouted a soldier, holding the rank of lieutenant-commander.  He was a tall, burly man with a full-grown beard and an abundance of chest and back hair.  His arms were thick and heavy, covered in course hair.  Some believed he had orcish blood in him.

  "The damnable creatures!  You never see them coming."

  Another soldier joined the brute; a small, rat-like man.  "I'm sure it will turn out well in the end."

  "I can't be so sure, Kertwyn.  Go and alert all he other commanders!  We must be quick to suppress this."

  "Yes, we must."  Kertwyn turned as if to fulfill the lieutenant-commander's order.  Then he whirled around and planted a dagger in the man's throat in a single, smooth motion.

  The burly soldier coughed up blood.  His eyes were frozen in a state of complete shock and disbelief.  He could not believe that his comrade had done this.  It must have been a dark elf in disguise, he thought.

  Kertwyn wasted no time to gloat over the death of his commanding officer.  It was something he had wanted to do for a long time, but there were many more kills to make and he was on a time constraint.  He and the men loyal to him had to cripple Waterdeep's defense as much as possible.  Kertwyn had a healthy fear of his drow friends, one that spurred him on with great haste to do their will.

  In the end, it would turn out well.

*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*

Waterdeep.

Docks district.

Soldiers, pirates, sailors and all-around fighting men grabbed weapons left and right, or fashioned what they could from furniture and cooking materials.  One such sailor was Jijiad.  Most of the man's skin was tattooed, most of his flesh was muscle, most of his clothes were stained, and most of his what was in his stomach was alcohol.  Jijiad would have like to keep it that way, but a foolish dark elf dropped from the rafters above and knocked over his mug, spilling his precious – though dirt cheap – slake!

The elf was busy cutting down a surprised, off-duty soldier as he completed his landing.  It was a smooth, clean cut, one quick crisscross at the throat with two curved blades - very stylish.  Who did this elf think he was?

Jijiad growled, more angered by his spilled slake then the blood of his drinking partner.  With liquor-induced speed and agility, he leaped up from his bar stool on to the bar, evading the drow's sluggish vertical slash and nimbly encircling the small creature.  The sailor slipped his arms under the elf's armpits and then laced his fingers behind his white-haired skull.  The surprised elf tried to counter, but having no real freedom to move his arms his weapons did no real damage.  Further, Jijiad didn't feel a thing.

The drunken sailor bore down with all the anger his well-built frame could liberate.  The result was immediate and final.  The elf's neck snapped like a dried branch.

Shouts of fighting sprung up everywhere around the man as it became apparent that the foolish dark elf was not alone.  Perhaps it was a liquor-induced hallucination, or perhaps there was more then liquor in his system.

Another dark elf dropped from the rafters and cut down a pretty, auburn-haired bar wench as she was struggling to flee.

Jijiad's eyes glowed with primal ferocity.  Perhaps this was no illusion and the drow really were attacking!

Outside, standing alone in the street amidst the ensuing chaos as the darkness of night set in was a lone woman clad in a blood-red silk robe.  Her hair was jet black, dyed crimson in faint streaks.  She was tall and lean.  There were scars here and there upon her milky skin, some more visible then others.  Her face might once have been exquisitely beautiful, but now the look of madness had a permanent hold on it.

Linira raised her right hand luxuriously; her eyes were half-lidded as if in rapture.  Turning her hand, she spread her fingers and let fly a series of multi-colored spheres of light.  Each sphere whirled and sought a different target, absorbing themselves into the bodies of sailors and soldiers nearly completely unnoticed by them.

"The water falls, and then it rises."  Linira whispered quietly to herself.  "The air is absorbed and then released, then the cycle.  Life ends only to begin again… but it is different.  No life ever came from what is dead, only life can spawn life..."

The sorceress fully opened her eyes then.  Her left hand rose, holding a scroll.  "Why did they not tell me?  Sapphire, their was- or I am I?  No.  I am not… I have not.  I _am_ a have not!  Never have!"

Linira spoke aloud the words to her spell and gripped the scroll.  The thing glowed and burst into flames.  Then those touched by the orbs soon found themselves turning their weapons on each other.  Each man struck by a sudden madness and paranoia.  The soldiers saw dark elves where there were none, and so they stuck out in every direction.

Linira looked on with lusty eyes.  The carnage was very enticing, and even those not affected by her spell began to turn on each other as a result.  Very few dark elf soldiers were needed to take the Docks district after all.  The humans did the work for them.

*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*

Kincaid could feel it.  It was a vibration in the earth, a tingle in the air.  The hairs on the back of his neck stood up.  His muscles surged.  He wanted to be there.

The battle had begun.

Few times before had Kincaid felt so helpless.  One such time was when the cowled wizards stole away his dear Imoen.  Another time was when Irenicus had him imprisoned in a glass tube while he sapped the divinity from his very being.  Then there was that time Viconia was held motionless when agents of Lloth attacked her.  Also, when Gorion was killed….

Perhaps there were more such moments then he realized.

The mage sensed a presence.  He opened his eyes and even in the dim light he could make out her shape.

"Good evening, Drieza."

The sultry dark elf stepped closer.  She was now wearing a silk bathrobe – Kara-tur design, Kincaid guessed.   "One can't help but find you curious, Kincaid."

The mage gave a sour look.  "Yes, like any specimen on an examiner's table.  Shall we start with the incision, or have you not your scalpel?"

Drieza said nothing and began circling the human, touching him here and there.  Touching him in places he'd rather she not touch him.

"Do you really think you can hold Waterdeep, Drieza?  And if you do, how long will you last against the other human kingdoms.  They will not suffer a drow city on the surface."

"It won't be entirely drow."  Drieza said.  She embraced him from behind.  Her arms wrapped around his stomach and where the parts of her skin touched the silk cords that held him, she was not held by them

"What are you talking about?"

"And Waterdeep will not be the one and only, it is just an example, a test.  It is an experiment.  You are a wizard; you understand the need for that.  Tell me, Kincaid… are you familiar with the syphilis tektite plant?"

The wizard took a moment to recall the information.  "A weed-like flower-bush that requires as much as 3 gallons a day to water and flourishes from the chemicals of the decaying bodies of nearby animals."

Drieza completed her circle of him and entered his line of sight.  "A beautiful plant.  That's all you really had to say.  It glows at night, when the sun goes down.  It is a soft glow, most do not notice it, but I do."

The drow removed a gel-like substance container from one of the folds in her robe, applied some to her hands and began to rub it into the wizard's chest.

Kincaid narrowed his eyes suspiciously.  "It is also a combustible spell component."

"Not after it's been mixed with one part sword spider venom, and two parts crushed surface beetle shells.  In that case, it becomes an aphrodisiac."

Kincaid had to laugh.  "From what I know of you, I'm not too surprised.  Next I expect I'll be breeding with a spider."

Drieza shrugged.  "It's only painful at first."

Kincaid's expression soured.

This time the elf laughed.  "You thought I was serious."

"I have seen far worse with your kind."

This time, a scowl.  "My kind?  You know, I thought you were above that sort of thinking, after what you've seen in your life.  You surprise me, Jered Kincaid!"

"You seem to know a lot about my life."

"More then you would like me to know, I'm sure.  Tell me then, what have you seen of us drow that is worse then what your own race has accomplished.  No, don't answer that.  You see where I am going with this?  The drow believe themselves superior to all other races.  Who is to say the humans do not also have that arrogance."

Kincaid had to bite back his tongue, for he was tempted to argue that it is not nearly as widespread with humans.  After a moment of thought, he realized that he could not honestly say that.  He regarded Drieza shrewdly after that.  She was deep.

"So what is the cream for?"

Drieza had finished applying the substance to his chest, and worked it into his shoulders.  "Just a spell component.  A precaution should I need to use it.  As you are well aware, you cannot be trusted."  After a moment, her hands trailed below his abdomen.  "Breeding you was an idea that crossed my mind.  A score of loyal, half-drow half-godling with no place to call home.  Powerful and dependent on us, yes I think we are more alike then you know."

Kincaid looked struck.  "I hope that's not a veiled insult directed at my companions."

"Even now, they seek you.  It makes it all the more easy to capture them as well."

"Care to explain why?

"Obviously, we need to minimize interference, among other things."  Drieza paused and stepped back.  For a moment, there was a look of sadness in her eyes.  "I'd be worried about your woman if I were you.  Pray she loves you enough to let you go and not follow."

The thought of danger to Viconia had occurred to him, that much was certain.  And Kincaid did worry, but he would not let it show.

Moments passed and the two talked little.  Drieza occupied herself with applying the cream to the entirety of Kincaid's body.  When her gently rubbing hands reached certain sensitive places, the mage resolved his body to be unresponsive and impassive.  The feat would have been easier if not for the obvious notion that Drieza was enjoying this.

"Is it too late to opt for torture?"

Delightful laughter bubbled from the drow's throat, but her hand did not still.

Calm as he made himself appear to be, the thought of being smeared heat to toe in a drow spell component worried him.

-*-*-*-*-*-*-

   Author's note:

  It's rather strange, but I had wanted to extend this chapter to be even longer then it was.  Trouble is, It got to such a length that I could add nothing else without re-iterating character actions or just going over events that have already taken place.  A chapter is a chapter and it must come to an end.

  At least, that's what the chibi keeps telling me in my sleep.

  So you see I had this chapter on my box for months, slowly adding to it and singing and dancing in the thrall of writer's block.  I could never do this for a living.  Hell, I've got enough of a challenge to get the thing to upload in proper web-format.  Fanfiction has a problem with whoever encoded that portion of their site.  Maybe they should have me do it instead.

  The chibi suggested that one too.

  For those wonder about the man behind the keyboard, I'll be happy to update.  I've found a new love in my life.  Her name is Chai, and she comes in three flavors right now; black, Vanilla and Spice.  I prefer spice.  Caffinated, of course.  I still play video games 8 hours a day to stave off reality, all while miraculously maintaining my unbelievably sexy physique (I dare you to take that seriously).

  Oh, and a new fact that came to my attention is as follows – Evanescence Roxors and crushes all others.  Yep, They is awesome and there's nothing you can do about it.  Ann (lead singer) Is hot too.  Just Fyi, y'know.  It's by no means pertinent save for my listening to it as I write this.

  You know, this is really long for an author's note, are you still reading this?  I know from personal experience that you guys tend to speed-read and skip parts that don't interest you.  You suck, you know that?

  Well, time to get started on chapter 15.  later.


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